


Redemption

by InsubstantialScribblings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hayffie, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:52:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsubstantialScribblings/pseuds/InsubstantialScribblings
Summary: A year after the end of the war, Haymitch Abernathy is trying to move forward with his life in Twelve. In the Capitol, Effie Trinket is trying to do the same until events leave her needing the help of the only man she's ever truly loved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing new, just a repost of something I previously deleted. I've split it into chapters this time following feedback. Please note the following disclaimer which has become necessary following a reader complaint:
> 
> 'Characters in my stories may express thoughts and opinions which are not necessarily the "correct" or most socially, medically or morally acceptable ones. Neither are these necessarily my own opinions. If you are looking to be advised on any topic, that is not what I am offering.'

** REDEMPTION **

****

Haymitch straightened up and rubbed the aching muscles of his back. His body wasn’t as young as it used to be, but he was certainly in the best shape he’d been in for more than a decade.

He’d been forced to participate in an exercise programme in Thirteen like all residents and it had built on the small improvements he’d already made in training for the Quell. He hadn’t expected to continue once he and Katniss were rusticated to Twelve after the war, but he’d found that physical activity had been the best way to keep occupied when liquor supplies were running low and the next delivery train was still a while away. He’d actually sporadically put some energy into keeping his house nearly as neat as Hazelle had left it a year ago, he collected and chopped wood for all their fires, sometimes accompanied Katniss on hunts and occasionally even joined one of the volunteer teams labouring to clear the ruins of the bombed town and build new homes and facilities. And then there were the geese, of course. They mostly took care of themselves, but his current task was to build them a more substantial winter shelter before the cold really set in. He’d been at it for most of the morning and now his back was ordering him to take a break. Maybe he’d go over to the kids’ place – Peeta generally had something or other baking that he’d be able to cadge.

 

At that very moment, as if summoned by his thoughts, Peeta’s voice rang out clearly from the side of the house, calling his name.

 

“Out back!” he shouted in reply, “With the geese!”

 

A second later, Peeta hove into view, bearing a plate containing some buttered cheese bread and a large slice of cold pork pie which he handed over wordlessly.

 

“Thanks boy,” he mumbled, starting in on the pie immediately, “You must have read my mind.”

 

“I come as a messenger actually,” said Peeta. “We just had a call from Plutarch. He said he’s been trying to get hold of you.”

 

“Yep. I don’t answer when his number comes up. He might have got us through the rebellion, but that’s a man who always wants something and I don’t plan to oblige. You shouldn’t give him anything either. What was he after? Interviews? Photographs? Not offering you a job again, is he?”

 

“He didn’t want anything at all from us. Just asked me to tell you to call him urgently. I told him I’d have to tell you more than that if he actually wanted it to happen.”

 

“And?” asked Haymitch, between bites of pie.

 

“He wouldn’t go into any detail, but he said it’s about Effie. I’m worried, Haymitch. Plutarch sounded really serious. What if… I know you got immunity for her after the war, but a lot of people didn’t like it. What if there’s some problem with that?”

 

“Paylor’s a good woman. Fair and true to her word. She was happy to honour the agreement we’d made with Coin. I can’t imagine it would cause a problem now. Effie was doing fine when I last spoke to her.”

 

“When was that?” asked Peeta, “Because we haven’t heard from her in ages.”

 

“Few months back now, I guess. She used to phone pretty regularly but then the calls just stopped. Even tried ringing her a few times. Never any reply. Probably not living in the same place anymore. Moved on with her life. Got a boyfriend most likely,” responded Haymitch, hoping that Peeta wouldn’t notice the vulnerable edge that had crept into his voice. He’d enjoyed those calls, found himself looking forward to them. He couldn’t deny he’d been hurt when she’d suddenly cut contact, though he didn’t begrudge her making a clean slate.

 

“Will you ring Plutarch back though?” insisted Peeta. “I need to know everything’s ok. So does Katniss.”

 

Peeta wouldn’t leave until Haymitch had solemnly promised to return the call as soon as he’d finished lunch and let him and Katniss know what the mystery was. They were all still constantly afraid of losing someone else they cared for. No matter how long peace held, that would always be the case.

 

Some of Peeta’s concern seemed to have spilled into his own gut and, all of a sudden, he found he had no more appetite for the food in front of him. He threw the last of the bread to the geese, who squabbled over it noisily, and made his way up to the back door of his house, through the kitchen and on to the study where he picked up the phone and pressed the key programmed for Plutarch’s direct line. The Capitol man answered almost immediately.

 

“Haymitch? At last! You are a difficult man to get hold of. Peeta gave you my message, I presume.”

 

“He said it was about Effie, thought you sounded worried. There’s no problem with the immunity bargain is there? She’s not… She _is_ alive, isn’t she? Free?” Haymitch’s heart was now beating loudly in his ears and he almost wished he hadn’t asked that question, wasn’t sure he could handle the answer.

 

“She’s alive. She’s really not in a good way though. It seems she’s had some kind of breakdown. Her father died a few months ago, quite suddenly. He was her last surviving relative. Apparently, it’s tipped her over the edge. She collapsed in the street quite some weeks back. Someone called an ambulance which brought her to the main hospital. She came round after not too long, but no-one could get her to talk. Literally nothing. Eventually she got transferred to a mental health facility. That’s how I heard about it. The medics there couldn’t find any next of kin, close friends, anyone really. They knew we were acquainted so eventually they called me.”

 

“Have you seen her?” asked Haymitch, his voice coming out somewhat strangled.

 

“Yes,” confirmed Plutarch. “It’s very strange. She’s her… and yet not. I don’t think she’s been doing well for a while, Haymitch. Her keys were on her when she was brought in so Fulvia went to her apartment to fetch her some clothes and toiletries. She said the place was nearly stripped bare. Most of the furniture gone, all the valuables. Phone had been cut off. We think she’s been selling stuff for quite some time to get by. I don’t think she’s been working. She’s viewed with suspicion on all sides, you see? Probably no-one would give her a job. I’d told her to come to me if she got desperate, but she never showed up here. Too proud, knowing her.”

 

“Surely money shouldn’t be an issue now though?” said Haymitch. “Her dad was wealthy, wasn’t he? Had a big house?”

 

“Certainly,” responded Plutarch. “That can’t do Effie any good though.”

 

“You’re not making any sense!” said Haymitch tartly. “What _are_ you talking about? He didn’t leave his estate to her?”

 

“Oh Haymitch, don’t tell me you’re not keeping abreast of new government policy? Wait. Don’t answer that. New rules on inheritance are in force now. Wealth may only be passed to an individual’s own children who must be under twenty-five. If no-one fits the bill, then everything passes to the government who will use it fairly for the benefit of _all_ Panem’s citizens. It’s actually a pretty good policy, although it wasn’t popular among Capitols, as you can imagine! It’s a real boost to public funds as well as effectively wiping out the spoiled rich-kid phenomenon. It really encourages the entrepreneurial spirit too – anyone who wants to be wealthy has to work out a way of achieving it for him- or herself.”

 

“So Effie’s broke?” interrupted Haymitch. “Is that why you called me? If she’s got medical bills to settle or whatever, it’s not a problem. I’m good for the money. I’ll pay.”

 

“Well, that would certainly be helpful, but it’s not why I phoned. Remember I said she wouldn’t speak? Well, that’s not quite true, but the doctors here can’t get anywhere with her. There is one thing she says. Quite a bit actually. Although it’s just a murmur every time.”

 

“What’s that?” said Haymitch, his stomach churning. Why the hell hadn’t she spoken to him if she’d been struggling? She’d been so convincing on the phone, so upbeat he’d really believed it. And after years of working and sleeping together he’d thought he’d known her inside out…

 

“Haymitch,” said Plutarch, interrupting his thoughts. “She says ‘Haymitch’. Look, we really think you ought to come. She’s not responding to anything the doctors do. Fulvia said her apartment had photos of you and the children everywhere. Maybe seeing you would give her a kickstart. Something needs to happen or I can’t see her ever getting out of there, ever living a normal life.”

 

“Better give me the address of this clinic,” said Haymitch, snatching up a notepad and pen from the desk. “I’ll be on my way by this afternoon. Tell them to expect me tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

A little over twenty-four hours later, Haymitch’s train began to slow as it made its approach to the Capitol. Every bend of the track was eerily familiar to him and how strange it seemed to be arriving in the city without being surrounded by the garish opulence of the tribute train, without the palpable fear of two unlucky teenagers, without Effie by his side. Haymitch was a man well used to solitude, but he found himself at that moment wishing once again for the quietly reassuring presence of Katniss and Peeta. They’d offered to come, of course, as soon as he’d walked over to their house and relayed Plutarch’s news, and at first it had seemed the most obvious thing in the world. Then they had all remembered that Katniss was not permitted to travel and Haymitch definitely hadn’t wanted her to be left behind alone. Judging from his lack of argument against it, neither had Peeta, and so that was that. They had both seen him off at the station just two hours later amidst promises to take care of the geese and demands for him to keep them informed. A lump had risen in his throat as the train had begun to move and Peeta had swiftly passed an almost-forgotten and carefully prepared food parcel through the open window, this lump only increasing as his final glimpse of them before the train entered the tunnel revealed Katniss wiping a tear from her eye and burying her face in Peeta’s shoulder. How he had wished then that they had been sat with him and not abandoned on the other side of this vehicle spiriting him away from them.

 

As the journey wore on, his opinion had changed. The train had become fairly busy as it moved through the districts and, whilst no-one bothered him directly, he was all too aware of the stares and the whispers. How Katniss would have loathed it; it could have set her back months and for once he was glad of her confinement to Twelve where the few residents knew her and respected her privacy.

There were plenty of bad memories to be dredged up along the way too. The stop in Eleven would surely have brought Rue to her thoughts, just as it had brought Chaff to his. Passing through Eight, where she had witnessed the brutal bombing of the hospital, had risked her own life. Four, a reminder of the loss of Finnick and of her mother’s desertion, then Two with the ruins of its mountain tomb.

Yes, his wish for the kids’ presence was a fleeting thing and he felt glad again that they were still safely at home. Besides, this really was something he should do alone for other reasons too. Effie’s breakdown might have been triggered by her father’s death, but he was in no doubt that its origins lay firmly in her wartime imprisonment and torture. The children had had nothing to do with that. No. One person alone was responsible for allowing her to be subjected to that and it should be that person alone to help her now.

Why had he ever let himself believe she’d be safer in the Capitol than in Thirteen? His dreams were still filled with scenarios where he’d decided differently, where she’d emerged unscathed. She’d insisted time and time again that it hadn’t been his fault, that he couldn’t have known, but it had never made him feel any less guilty. Why his was the only name now on her lips he couldn’t fathom.

 

Haymitch gathered his belongings and moved to the door, keen to alight quickly and quietly without drawing attention to himself. The train had barely come to a complete stop before he was out and pushing his way through the crowds, head down and pace determined. Once clear of the station, he withdrew the scrap of paper from his pocket and checked Plutarch’s instructions again. The clinic was a mere three blocks away and he figured it would be quicker to walk it than waste time looking for other transportation. Besides, a nasty feeling of dread was building in his gut and his breathing was no longer in a steady rhythm – it would be impossible to sit trapped inside a car right now without a stiff drink to steady himself.

 

The facility did not prove hard to find despite how much the city had changed. It was a dark, ugly building with significant bomb damage to its façade. Just like the districts, the Capitol was having to get by for now with whatever resources were useable.

 

Plutarch must have been true to his word and alerted the clinic to his arrival because the receptionist had sprung up and was ushering him down a corridor and up a flight of stairs before he had had the chance to announce himself and state his business.

 

“Please wait in here and help yourself to coffee,” she told him as she showed him into a modest office. “I will alert Dr Crimsen to your presence immediately.”

 

Haymitch had no thirst for coffee, but poured himself a cup of the luxurious brown liquid anyway and drank it far too hot, needing to keep his mind and hands occupied and avoid the window from which he knew he would catch a glimpse of the Mansion and the deadly circle in front of it…

 

“Mr Abernathy.” The pronounced Capitol accent belonged to a greying and exhausted-looking man in his fifties. “I am so glad you were able to come. I confess I was greatly relieved when Mr Heavensbee was able to decipher what Miss Trinket was saying and point us in your direction. Please, do take a seat.”

 

“I want to see her,” said Haymitch, remaining resolutely still.

 

“And so you shall,” the doctor pacified him. “But not before I have appraised you a little of her condition and advised you of how to approach her.”

 

“Approach her?” scoffed Haymitch. “She’s not a dangerous dog! And I’ve known her for years.”

 

“That’s as may be. But Effie has suffered an intense mental episode. Her reactions can be unpredictable, and you need to be prepared for that, both for your own safety and to minimise her distress.”

 

Reluctantly, Haymitch pulled up a chair and the doctor gratefully seated himself behind his desk.

 

“Unfortunately, though unsurprisingly, we do not possess files which document in detail what happened to Miss Trinket during the war. Records merely show that she was imprisoned as a traitor to the previous regime – first at the Training Centre and later at an underground holding facility on the outskirts of the city. Witness statements from fellow prisoners and the physical condition of Miss Trinket’s person suggest that she was subjected at the very least to starvation, beatings and electric shock procedures.”

 

Haymitch winced. He’d known this much already from Peeta and Annie – Effie herself had never wanted to discuss it with him – but that didn’t make hearing it again any easier.

 

“Miss Trinket never presented herself for therapy or counselling with any healthcare professional as far as we have been able to make out. It would appear that she seemed to be coping well by herself.”

 

“Yeah,” said Haymitch. “That’s how it _would_ appear. She’s good at showing what she thinks people want to see. Always has been.” She had certainly fooled him.

 

“Well, not anymore,” replied Dr Crimsen. “The loss of her father and most of her assets seems to have robbed her of the ability to fool herself and the rest of Panem that she’s unaffected by what happened to her. The most likely diagnosis is one of a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s a condition we’re seeing in increasing numbers currently and I’m afraid we lack the resources to help everyone effectively. Miss Trinket’s case, and even settling on an accurate diagnosis, is complicated by her affliction with a kind of selective mutism. Talking things through can of course be harrowing but we find it is always at the core of good treatment. I had hoped to have made progress with Miss Trinket by now, but I’m sorry to say we are getting nowhere. I suspect that her staying here is contributing to that. We have tried to make her accommodation comfortable, but it is still an institution and I imagine that in itself triggers her flashbacks and fear. With her having no family and no friends here to speak of, however, there is simply no choice, nowhere else for her to go. I can’t deny that you are rather our last hope, Mr Abernathy. Your name is the only thing she says and I’m sincerely hoping that seeing you will trigger the return of her speech.”

 

“I want to see her,” repeated Haymitch firmly.

 

“We’ll go to her now,” agreed Dr Crimsen. “But I must insist you allow me to enter the room first whilst you remain out of sight. She becomes very unsettled when suddenly confronted with people she is not expecting to see. She screams, quite often tries to hide or escape. She can be violent. It can be very distressing, both for her and for her visitor.”

 

Haymitch nodded, not caring one iota for his own distress, but certainly not wanting to cause her more pain. He got to his feet as the doctor did and followed him back down the corridor and to the elevators. They rode to the fourth floor in silence and then completed a series of turns before coming to a stop in front of a stark wooden door with an observation window.

 

“Wait here until I tell you,” said Dr Crimsen, knocking softly on the wood and immediately entering.

“Good afternoon, Effie,” he said gently in a cheerful tone. “How are you feeling today?”

 

There was no response and Haymitch could not stop himself from approaching the small square of safety glass to see inside the room. He’d been bracing himself, but what he saw was still a shock. Effie was huddled in a corner of the room on the floor, despite the presence of a standard hospital bed and a comfortable-looking armchair. She was clad in just a white cotton nightgown which made it impossible to ignore just how very thin she had become. Her hair was loose but unbrushed, her face pale and devoid of any trace of make-up. She was still beautiful, but it was _so_ not her to be so unkempt, and even worse, to appear not to care about it.

“Now, my dear,” continued Dr Crimsen, “I have something to tell you and it is very important that you remain calm.”

 

Haymitch registered the increase in her anxiety immediately. She stiffened and seemed to draw further into herself, hugging her arms around her knees as though for protection.

 

“You mustn’t be afraid or worry. This is a good thing I have to tell you. I’ve brought you a visitor and…”

 

Anything further the doctor said was drowned out by an awful high-pitched keening as Effie buried her head in her lap and seemed to roll herself into a tight ball. The wail gave way to hysterical screams and there was no mistaking the trembling that wracked her bony frame.

Nothing in the world could have persuaded Haymitch to stay on the other side of that door a second longer. Sure, he was no medic, but every fibre of his being screamed at him to run to her, to help her pain, and he pushed back the heavy door and stumbled through it.

 

“Mr Abernathy! I gave strict instructions for you to stay back! I…”

The doctor was cut off as, at the mention of his name, Effie sprang to her feet with an agility belied by her fragile body and threw herself across the room, launching into Haymitch’s surprised arms and clinging to him as though she would never let go.

“Haymitch,” she whispered desperately into his neck, where she had buried her face.

 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” said Haymitch in what he hoped was a soothing tone, despite his racing heart. “I’m here. Hush now. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything else happen to you.” He rocked her rhythmically, which seemed to slow her panicked breathing, glancing over the top of her head at Dr Crimsen.

 

The doctor was shaking his head in utter wonder, a small smile on his lips. “Well I never. I hoped you might be able to help, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

 

“Can you leave us?” asked Haymitch quietly.

 

Dr Crimsen did not protest. “I’ll wait outside.”

 

Haymitch half carried Effie over to the armchair, settling himself into it with her in his lap, still clinging firmly to him.

 

“Haymitch,” she whispered again, and he felt her breathe in the scent of his skin deeply.

 

“What’s happened to you, Sweetheart? Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad? You’re struggling, you come to me, yeah? I know I let you down before, but I’ll never make that same mistake again, I swear to you, ok? Whatever you need me to do, I’m going to do it, yeah? You just tell me, Eff. Tell me what you want me to do.”

 

Haymitch felt her tears slide wetly down the side of his neck and under his collar, but she made no response other than to press her body even more tightly against his.

 

“Look, Sweetheart, I need to go speak to the doc. I’ll just be right outside the door, ok? I’ll be right back.”

 

He didn’t get far. The second he tried to loosen her grip, the screaming started up again, all the progress he’d made in calming her undone.

Dr Crimsen reappeared abruptly, swiftly assessing the situation. “She seems to find a security in you that she can’t see anywhere else,” he commented as Haymitch’s gentle stroking of her back extinguished the screams once more. “I’ll admit I’m not sure how to proceed from here.”

 

“I am,” said Haymitch gruffly, “I’m taking her home.”

 

“I wouldn’t advise taking her to her apartment,” continued the doctor. “From Miss Cardew’s account, I imagine the reminder of her straitened circumstances won’t help matters.”

 

“I don’t mean her apartment,” said Haymitch. “I mean home to Twelve.”

 

Dr Crimsen exhaled. He stared at the odd couple in front of him for several minutes, deep in thought. “That’s not something I’d normally advise,” he said eventually, “PTSD is something best dealt with by professionals. But, perhaps, in this case… We’ve been working with Effie for so long with no real progress…”

 

“Dr Aurelius treats Katniss and Peeta remotely,” said Haymitch. “Couldn’t you do something like that?”

 

“That might be a possibility if she starts talking again,” he replied, “But at the moment…”

 

“She needs to get away from here if she’s going to get better,” insisted Haymitch, instinctively knowing he was right. “Twelve’s perfect. No-one hurt her there. And it’s quiet, good for healing. The kids are there too; they’ll help.”

 

“If you can assure me you can take care of her medication regime, then I’m not opposed to trying. It’s just… you’re not a family member. I can’t just release her to you unless she gives her consent. And she isn’t in a position to do that.”

 

Effie instantly raised her tear-stained face from the sanctuary of Haymitch’s neck. She fixed her gaze on Dr Crimsen and, with all her effort, forced her broken voice into use. Just three whispered words.

“Yes. Haymitch. Home.”

 

“Well, I guess that settles it,” said the doctor. “I’ll put everything in order and have the necessary papers ready when you come back tomorrow. Where are you staying tonight?”

 

Effie’s thin wail had started up again and Haymitch wasted no time in reassuring her. “Shh, it’s ok, Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” He turned back to Dr Crimsen. “I can’t leave her. I left her once before, I won’t do it again. We need to go now. Today. I’m sure you can push the paperwork through. And get Heavensbee on the phone, will you? Tell him I’m gonna need a hovercraft. No way she’s up to the train ride.”

 

“I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you, Mr Abernathy. I’ll see what I can do. Her clothes and other possessions are in the locker there. You get her ready and I’ll be back as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

 

“How did we get here, Sweetheart?” asked Haymitch softly once they were alone again. “Well, it stops now. I’m gonna take care of you and you’re gonna let me. I’m gonna make it up to you and you’re gonna get better. Now, let’s get you ready, yeah? The Effie Trinket I know would never board a hovercraft in a nightgown.”

Getting her dressed proved difficult, given how unwilling she was to let him go, but eventually he managed to remove the nightdress. She was wearing simple cotton underwear underneath, but he fought not to wince at what it did not hide: the criss-cross of scars that stretched across her thin back and shoulders, whip marks for sure; the angry patches that looked suspiciously like chemical burns on her stomach and thighs. How she must have hated these, thought Haymitch, she who had always derived so much of her confidence from her body’s perfection. He was almost grateful for the current catatonic state that had rendered her insensible to them.

He picked out the simplest and most comfortable-looking of her dresses – a soft grey wool that must have once been close-fitting but now hung loosely from her depleted form – and helped her into it. With her still clutching tightly to him, he found a warm jacket and sturdy, albeit still high-heeled, long boots and set them to one side, packing everything else into the bag from her locker.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go get your toiletries, yeah? And you need to use the bathroom. Hell _, I_ need to use the bathroom. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”

 

He wasn’t sure how that was going to go, but he eventually persuaded her to use the bathroom as long as he stood the other side of the half-closed door with his arm through the gap in her plain sight. The old Effie would have been mortified at the mere thought of him hearing her bodily functions and it was another reminder of just how far she’d fallen. She sat unblinking on the edge of the bathtub while he took care of his own business and washed his hands, moving back to his side as soon as he was done. Haymitch packed her things into the empty washbag, picking up her silver hairbrush last. They moved back into the other room and he slipped everything bar this into her bag.

“Remember how you used to like me brushing your hair?” he asked as he brought the soft bristles to her blonde mane. “I used to moan about it, but you know what, Sweetheart? I didn’t really mind at all. Your hair is so beautiful.”

 

Effie closed her eyes and seemed to relax into the rhythm of the brush’s strokes and Haymitch realised that this was going to be the key. Not the doctor’s medication, but these baby steps of touch and intimacy, of gentle caring and trust. It might be a long road, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was one he was only too willing to travel.

He wasn’t sure how long they remained there like that – he with the hairbrush in hand, Effie leant back against him, her hair against the bristles the only sound in the room. He was surprised to find that he felt almost peaceful and desperately hoped that some of that sensation was transmitting itself to her.

A quiet knock broke the moment and Dr Crimsen reappeared in the room, bearing a small package and a handful of papers. “These are Effie’s pills, along with instructions for dosage and timings. Please adhere to them carefully. And I need you both to sign these forms. Haymitch - this confirms that you are taking on the responsibility for Effie’s day-to-day care and Effie – your signature confirms that you consent to this arrangement.”

Haymitch wasn’t sure that Effie was capable of understanding or even that she was listening, but as he turned to place the drugs and hairbrush into the bag, she grasped the offered pen and signed her name neatly at the bottom of each form. “Well, I guess that settles it,” he said, and added his own signature.

 

“The hovercraft’s on its way,” continued Dr Crimsen. “Mr Heavensbee was very helpful and very relieved, I might add. He says he’ll call you and I’m to tell you to make sure you pick up. Now, if you’re all set, I’ll escort you up to the roof to board.”

 

“Thanks,” said Haymitch, gently pulling Effie to her feet and helping her into her jacket and boots. She pressed herself to his left side and he took her large bag and his small one in his right hand. “Ok, Sweetheart, let’s go home.”

 

They stood on the roof, watching the hovercraft approach, Dr Crimsen giving last-minute information about Effie’s drugs and when he would telephone, Haymitch asking him to call Plutarch back and tell him to inform the kids of their imminent arrival. And then they were lifting up, rising high above the Capitol. Effie seemed to sigh with relief as the city disappeared from their view, pulling Haymitch’s arm tighter around her and resting her head on his shoulder, collapsing into an exhausted sleep.

 

She was still asleep several hours later as the hovercraft began its descent onto the green of Victors’ Village. As the semi-circle of fine houses came into view, Haymitch could make out two familiar figures, standing not outside their own house, but on his front porch. By the time the hovercraft doors opened, Haymitch standing ready with the bags at his feet and his arms full of Effie, two sets of anxious eyes were right there to meet him.

 

“Haymitch,” said Peeta, keeping his tone low as he caught sight of the sleeping woman in his arms. “What’s happened? Plutarch called and said you were bringing Effie back by hovercraft, but he didn’t know any more.”

 

“Let’s get indoors, shall we?” said Haymitch gruffly. “Can you handle the bags?”

 

Katniss ran ahead to open the front door, followed by Haymitch with Effie and Peeta bringing up the rear with their belongings. Effie had still not stirred even when the hovercraft had made its noisy take-off and Haymitch sank onto the couch with her, adjusting her position so that she could lay with her head in his lap. Peeta dumped the bags at the foot of the stairs and installed himself in the adjacent armchair while Katniss took the floor, gently working to loosen and remove Effie’s boots. Something she must have once done for a tired sister, thought Haymitch sadly.

Peeta stood again, as if suddenly remembering something. “We made supper for you. I’ll fetch you a bowl. You can reheat Effie’s whenever she’s ready.”

 

“Good of you, but don’t bother yourself. Not hungry right now,” he replied.

 

“You should eat,” said Katniss quietly from her spot at his feet. “Effie needs you. And that means you have to take care of yourself if you’re to be any use to her.”

 

He let the wisdom of her words sink in and nodded gratefully to Peeta who retreated to the kitchen, returning with a warm bowl of stew.

 

“There’s plenty more there for both of you,” he said as he handed it over. “I’ll put it in the fridge when we leave.”

 

“Thanks,” said Haymitch, finding to his surprise that his appetite picked up once he started in on the meal. They sat in silence for a while as he ate until Peeta could bear it no longer.

 

“So, what is it? What’s wrong with her?”

 

Haymitch sighed. “The doc wasn’t sure, but he thinks Post Traumatic Stress. She’s still not talking. Just says my name. Although she did manage a ‘Yes’ when Dr Crimsen said I couldn’t bring her here without her consent. Fuck! I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing. I’m no doctor. Can’t even look after myself half the time. I’m already messing it up. Was supposed to give her her pills on the flight but I couldn’t wake her. I just… I couldn’t leave her there. She just clung to me, screamed whenever she thought I was leaving. I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

“You did the right thing,” said Katniss, staring intently at the carpet. “She can’t get better there. I couldn’t either. Plutarch said she’s got no-one there. No friends stuck by her and now her family’s gone too. It’s toxic for her. She said we were a team once. When one man’s down, the rest step up. Peeta and I… we’ll help you heal her. And don’t worry about their stupid pills. Missing a dose or two isn’t going to make a difference. Rest is more valuable. I’ll bring one of my mother’s remedies in the morning too. She used to make a good tea for people who’d been through a trauma, people who were grieving. I’ve been taking it; I think it helps.”

 

“We’ve stocked up your groceries,” added Peeta, “and I’ve baked you some bread and cookies. Anything else you need, just shout.” He took Haymitch’s now empty bowl from his hands. “You should both get a good night’s sleep. Katniss made up the spare room next to yours and I changed your sheets. We didn’t know if… Well, anyway, I’ll take your bags up. We won’t crowd her. If you think she’s ready to see us tomorrow, just call us and we’ll be right here. But we’ll understand if she needs more time.”

 

Peeta disappeared to the kitchen and shortly Haymitch heard his tread on the stairs as he took the bags up. Katniss helped Haymitch to hoist Effie up so they could remove her jacket.

“I’ll hang this up on our way out,” she said. “Don’t forget, we’re just there if either of you needs anything.”

 

“Thanks, kids,” said Haymitch as Peeta re-joined them. “I know I don’t say it much, but I do appreciate you both. So will she, when she…” he trailed off.

 

Katniss gave him a small smile and Peeta squeezed his shoulder affectionately as they took their leave and Haymitch found that the stupid lump in his throat wouldn’t allow him to wish them goodnight.

 

“Just you and me again, Sweetheart,” mumbled Haymitch to Effie’s sleeping form. “Let’s get you settled for the night.” He gathered her in his arms again, light as a feather, and mounted the stairs. At the top he paused, Peeta’s words coming back to him: ‘Katniss made up the spare room next to yours and I changed your sheets. We didn’t know if…’. He’d never discussed the nature of his relationship with Effie, though he supposed his behaviour after the Quell had made it obvious he cared for her more than as a colleague. Still, he’d never guessed they’d worked out the truth of it. He was grateful they had and glad they’d made no more than a passing reference to it tonight, glad he wouldn’t have to explain. He wouldn’t have been able to anyway, he thought. What he and Effie had been to each other couldn’t easily be explained in words. If only the world had always been the way it was now, it could have been so very different. He’d always been quietly terrified of the depth of her feelings for him, had ignored it, too scared for them both to do anything else. He’d only realised how much she’d meant to him once she was gone. And now? Now he had no right to hope for anything from her. He didn’t deserve it. Mind made up, he stepped forward again in the direction of the guest room. Effie must have sensed the movement because she stirred in his arms and groaned softly.

 

“Hush, Sweetheart. Don’t wake up. Just gonna tuck you up. You sleep ‘til morning, yeah? I’ll just be in the next room if you need me.”

 

Effie didn’t scream this time, but she gripped his shirt tightly, a panicked “Haymitch!” escaping her lips.

 

“It’s ok, it’s ok, I’m right here. You gotta sleep though.” He paused. “Is it… Would you… Would you rather sleep in my bed? I don’t mean… Just next to me? If you need me to stay close?”

 

Effie nodded vigorously into his shoulder where her head was cradled, and he turned and made his way back to his own room, setting her down gently on the bed. She pulled him down with her, still gripping tightly to his shirt.

 

“We’ll sort out teeth cleaning and nightclothes and all that shit tomorrow, yeah? You gotta let me go for a minute though, can’t go to bed in my shoes, can I? You told me that enough times.”

 

Very reluctantly, Effie loosened her grip and Haymitch took the opportunity to tuck her under the covers. He moved to the other side of the bed and removed his shoes, hesitating before slipping off his trousers as well. His shirt was long, it wouldn’t be much different to a nightshirt, he figured, plus his boxers were still on. He turned to get into bed, expecting Effie to have drifted back into unconsciousness already. He was startled to see her sitting upright, peeling the wool dress over her head and pushing it away.

 

“Effie. I don’t expect… You should leave that on. I…”

 

She seemed not to hear him and lay back down in her underwear, pulling the covers over her. He sighed and climbed in to join her. She scrambled over to him immediately, wrapping herself around him like the baby monkeys he’d seen once in the Capitol zoo. He stroked her poor battered back slowly, keen that she should get back to sleep. She was fidgety though, and after a moment he felt her small hands on his chest, working steadily at his shirt buttons.

 

“Effie, no. I didn’t bring you here for that. You just need to rest…”

 

“Haymitch,” she whispered, pushing the shirt open and pressing herself to his bare torso. He felt her go limp at once and then he understood. There was nothing sexual about this, she didn’t feel he was expecting anything. It was just a primal need to feel him close, his skin touching hers so she would feel safe. Well, he could give her that. Whatever she needed from him, she could take. It was the very least he could do. Carefully, he reached under his pillow and withdrew his knife, flinging it to the far side of the room. He’d resolved to stay awake while she slept but the day had been long and draining and, next to the comforting warmth of her body, his eyelids had already begun to grow heavy. As he drifted off, he could only hope that his own demons would stay away.


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch awoke to the sun casting a beam across his bedroom floor. Given that they were already into autumn, that could only mean that it was already late – mid-morning at least. He checked the clock. Just after 11 am. He’d slept nearly twelve hours straight. He struggled to remember the last time that had happened without a heavy dose of alcohol. He still didn’t find the hours of darkness easy, even after all these years, and what sleep he did get was usually plagued by multiple recurring nightmares. Last night though… nothing. Effie surely hadn’t woken either – he would have heard or sensed it. She slumbered on even now, though she’d turned in the night and it was now her back that was pressed up against him. Haymitch wondered if he could risk slipping out to the shower without disturbing her. The last thing he wanted was for her to awaken distressed by his absence, but he badly needed to wash away the grogginess his extended sleep had left him with. Very slowly, he slid from the bed, packing the duvet against her back to preserve the sensation of weight and warmth.

He hurried over his ablutions, but Effie was still dead to the world when he returned. Moving quietly, he selected a clean shirt and underwear from his drawers and pulled on yesterday’s trousers. He stood and watched her breathe for a while. She looked so innocent and vulnerable lying there in his huge bed and he fought off the urge to climb back in with her. He crept silently from the room, pausing to collect the doctor’s package from her bag which still lay in the corridor where Peeta had left it, and made his way down the stairs, carefully missing the ones he knew were prone to creaking. He entered the kitchen and set some water to boil for tea, noticing that one or both children had been and gone already this morning. A jar of what looked like old leaves stood on the kitchen table with a note of instructions in Katniss’s hand, headed “Tea for Effie”. Next to it lay one of Peeta’s familiar bread baskets covered with a cloth – a peek underneath revealed a selection of freshly baked cakes and pastries that had surely been made with Effie in mind. Haymitch set some of the tea to brew, placed Dr Crimsen’s contact card in his pocket and sat at the table to read through the medication schedule.

There seemed to be an awful lot of pills and he wasn’t sure what any of them were supposed to do. They were already several doses behind; he’d really need to be vigilant today, if Effie ever woke up that was. Perhaps he should try rousing her gently with some breakfast in bed.

No sooner had he begun to set the tray than he sensed it. First a small change in the air, then a familiar creak, followed by a faint, plaintive cry of “Haymitch?”

 

“Right here, Sweetheart,” he called, before her anxiety could soar to yesterday’s levels. He rushed towards the hall, only for Effie to meet him in the doorway, looking uncertain and clad in the shirt he’d worn to bed. She reached out to touch his arm, as if to reassure herself that he was real, and he felt the tremor in her fingers at once.

 

“Hey, you’ll catch your death walking about like that,” he chided, grabbing a heavy cable-knit sweater from the back of a chair and helping her to slip it on. She seemed so tiny standing there in his too-big clothes and an odd wave of fierce protectiveness and possessiveness washed over him. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to take her into his arms and embrace her tightly. Effie sank into him, arms around his neck, her cheek pressed to his.

 

“I knew you’d come for me,” she told him in a raspy whisper, “I told those guards you would.”

 

Relief flooded through Haymitch to hear her speaking again, but he couldn’t let her believe a lie or think he was a hero. He pulled back slightly, dropping his hands to the small of her back. “Umm, Eff? You know I didn’t come to the prison, right? You’ve been in hospital. For a couple of months now. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

 

Effie’s face was clouded with confusion. “I don’t… I’m not sure.”

 

“It’s ok,” said Haymitch, guiding her to a seat at the kitchen table. “We’ll work it all out. You just need time. We’ve got plenty of that.”

 

He poured her a mug of tea which she accepted gratefully, wrapping her hands around it and taking a careful sip.

 

“What can I get you for breakfast?” he continued, “I reckon you slept for over fifteen hours; you must be starving. I can do you some toast? Or eggs? They’re from my own geese – you won’t get fresher. Or Peeta baked us some pastries, all different ones. What’s it to be?”

 

Effie gave him a small smile but shook her head.

 

“Now see, that’s not an option, my girl. You’ve got to eat, got to take these pills. Else Dr Crimsen won’t let me look after you here at all.”

 

Effie looked panicked for a moment before reaching for a muffin.

 

“Good girl. You know it makes sense. Got to get your strength back. That’s oat and honey, if I’m not much mistaken. Excellent choice. Here.” He pushed an array of brightly coloured pills over to her. “Get those down with your tea, will you?”

 

Effie accepted the tablets and swallowed them obediently one by one. “It’s very good tea,” she croaked, raising her voice above a whisper for the first time.

 

“Katniss sent it for you. A brew her mother concocted. She might not have been to medical school, but I’d trust Mrs Everdeen’s remedies over a lot of your Capitol stuff.”

 

Effie nodded, staring down at her mug. Haymitch observed as two fat tears splashed onto the table’s wooden surface.

 

“Oh, hell.” He sat down in the adjacent chair and reached for one of Effie’s hands, rubbing her knuckles with his calloused thumb. “I’m sorry, Eff. I didn’t mean the pills won’t work. I…”

 

“It’s not that,” whispered Effie. “It’s just… everyone’s being so kind. Katniss with the tea, Peeta baking me muffins, you coming for me, bringing me here. No-one’s cared about me or really cared _for_ me in such a long time and…” Her voice cracked and her body was suddenly wracked with a loud sob.

 

“Oh, Effie.” Haymitch pulled her from her seat and settled her in his lap like a child. She collapsed against him instantly, arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder. He clasped her tightly with one arm, his other hand stroking up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion. Her body convulsed with pitiful sobs, her hot tears soaking his shirt. It was awful to see, to feel her distress and Haymitch felt at a complete loss. He wasn’t good at dealing with emotions or dispensing sympathy – what on Earth could he say to help her, to make this stop?

A sudden memory from the distant past flashed before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself as a young teen, back in his house in the Seam, hidden behind the kitchen door with his brother. His mother by the stove, embracing their neighbour, Nancy, young and newly widowed, as she sobbed her heart out.

“That’s it, love,” said his mother’s soft voice. “Just let it out. You _will_ feel better, I promise you. It’ll take time, but we’ll see you right in the end. The first thing to do is to get it all out, all that pain. So you just go on and cry and don’t feel a bit guilty about it.”

 

Haymitch paraphrased these words to Effie now. He stood and carried her gently to the living room, easing them both into the big rocking chair and setting it in motion. He wasn’t sure how long she cried for, but eventually the rhythm of the chair and the comforting creak of its runners against the floorboards lulled her into a more relaxed state and Haymitch realised she had fallen asleep. This was how it was going to be, he figured. It was just a question of letting her get out all the hurt that was inside her. Showing her over and over that she was safe and cared for until she believed it. Plenty of sleep, good simple food, fresh air and peace and quiet. He could provide all of that for her and he would insist she let him.  It was the very least he could do. If only he had never let Plutarch convince him to leave her in the Capitol… He made himself stop there. So many nights since the news of her disappearance this thought had played through his head as if, by thinking about it, he’d somehow be able to change the outcome. No use could come of it.

Very gently, he rose from the rocking chair and laid her on the couch, tucking the checked blanket he always kept there around her. He briefly stroked her blotchy, tear-stained cheek, checking that she really was sound asleep, before creeping from the room and across the hall to his study.

 

He’d never been comfortable with Capitol doctors. The time he’d spent with them after his Games and then the kids’ and then those weeks watching them treat Katniss in those burns tanks had been more than enough for a lifetime but, nevertheless, he forced himself to pull out Dr Crimsen’s card and dial his direct line.

The doctor answered on the second ring and Haymitch gruffly identified himself.

 

“Ah, Mr Abernathy! You must have read my mind; I was about to call you. How are things? I trust your journey home went smoothly.”

 

“Could say that. She fell asleep as soon as we boarded. Never really stirred, even when we landed. I reckon she slept over fifteen hours. We missed some of the pills ‘cos I couldn’t wake her. Not sure how important that is?”

 

“It shouldn’t cause a problem as long as it’s not a regular occurrence. She has begun the doses now though, yes?”

 

“Yeah. She woke a little while ago and took some then. She’s sleeping again already now though. Is that ok? Should I be worried?”

 

“No, not at this stage. She’s exhausted. She never slept well here. We tried our best to make her feel secure, but with limited success. She was always too much on edge, too afraid to rest properly. She’s got a lot of catching up to do. How has she been when she has been awake? Any progress with speaking yet?”

 

“Yeah. She’s been talking a bit. Her voice is kind of rough, but it’s proper sentences.”

 

“Well, that is excellent progress in such a short time! That makes me very optimistic.”

 

“Really? She seems so broken. Confused. She’s cried a lot. Cried herself to sleep just now. She doesn’t like me being out of her sight. Doesn’t even like it if I’m not touching her, to be honest.”

 

“I appreciate it seems concerning now, but honestly, it’s a good thing. It shows she trusts you, it shows you make her feel safe. She’s been lacking that for a very long time and it’s that kind of security that will be the key to unlocking her trauma and therefore allowing her to start healing. Are you able to cope with the level of these demands, Mr Abernathy? Because I can easily have a nurse sent out.”

 

“No,” snapped Haymitch, “No strangers. I’m fine with her. Got all the time she needs. Just wanted to check it was ok.”

 

“Absolutely. Human contact with someone who cares for her is the very best thing for Effie. Keep up with the medication, try to convince her to eat well and to rest. But, above all, talk to her, listen when she’s ready to talk and do not be afraid to touch her if that’s what she craves. The clinginess may seem childish or out of character right now, but it’s important to her healing process at this time. You’ve made an impressive start, Mr Abernathy. Keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any concerns. I’ll call you in a couple of days if I haven’t heard from you. Does that sound all right? Effie might even be up to speaking to me herself by then.”

 

“Ok, doc. Thanks. Speak soon.”

 

Haymitch hung up and immediately lifted the receiver again. This time he had to wait a full minute until he heard Peeta’s breathless voice at the other end.

 

“Haymitch. Sorry, I was in the garden. The onion crop’s still doing ridiculously well. How are things? Do you need us?”

 

“She’s ok, I think. Sleeping again now, but she talked a bit when she was awake. She was very touched by you leaving the baking. And the tea.”

 

“Can we bring you anything else? Or just come and say hello?”

 

“That’s why I was calling. I think it’s best if you don’t come over today. She’s very fragile. I will talk to her about it later, but I reckon she needs time to settle and get her bearings first before she sees anyone else. We’ve got plenty of your stew and baked goods so we’re not gonna starve.”

 

“Whatever you think best,” said Peeta. “You’ll let her know we’re thinking about her though, won’t you? Tell her we’re here when she’s ready to see us. Or if she needs anything?”

 

“Course I will. You both ok?”

 

“We’re fine. Just a bit distracted, a bit anxious. If there’s any way we can help…”

 

“There might be something actually,” said Haymitch, an idea slowly developing. “You still struggling with the vegetable harvest?”

 

“Oh, yes,” confirmed Peeta. “I never expected everything to do so well. Some of the stuff we can leave in the ground until later, things that won’t mind the frost, and some of the root veg will be ok in sand boxes in the cellar, but we’ve still got so much to preserve. Why?”

 

“Thought maybe you could leave me some bits. Things that need pickling or whatever. Might be therapeutic. Give her a focus. Or give me one. So I can stay close by but she doesn’t feel under constant scrutiny. I don’t know really. Was just an idea.”

 

“I think it’s a good one,” encouraged Peeta. “Do you know what to do?”

 

“Reckon so. Used to help my mother with it. Not that we had much.”

 

“Well, I won’t overload you. I’ll bring over everything you need. I won’t come in; I’ll just leave a box at the back door, ok?”

 

“Thanks, Peeta. I appreciate it.”

 

“Not at all. You’ll be doing us a favour.”

 

Haymitch hung up and returned to the living room. Effie slumbered on and he poured himself a drink and reclaimed the rocking chair. He certainly wasn’t planning to get wasted, but he also knew he couldn’t look after her properly if he was in withdrawals. He wondered whether he was on to something with the vegetable idea or whether it was a non-starter. Effie had certainly never been the back-to-nature type, but it was a different world now and he couldn’t help but think of what it had done for the kids.

Peeta had been cultivating vegetables since his first Games, but he’d come back from the Capitol hospital with a fresh enthusiasm for growing. He’d planted primroses around Katniss’s house in memory of her sister the minute he’d returned to Twelve – an action that had proved a catalyst in her recovery. He had brought back a wide variety of plants and seeds and, with Katniss by his side, had set about giving over his entire back garden to fruit and vegetable production. It was an excellent idea in itself since supplies to Twelve still tended to be subject to delays and a degree of self-sufficiency was therefore extremely beneficial, but there was no denying what it had contributed to lifting the worst of Katniss’s despair and depression and to bringing the kids closer again. None of them had anticipated the successful harvest they’d experienced so far, but, as with all his endeavours, Peeta seemed to have the golden touch. They’d given away a great deal but, with winter coming, they were now in a race against time to preserve the excess of the autumn crop.

 

Effie stirred and Haymitch stood and moved into her line of sight so that she’d be able to see him and not panic when she woke. Her eyes locked on him as they fluttered open, an uncertain expression on her face.

 

“Are you real?” she whispered as she stretched her arm in his direction.

 

He came closer, perching on the edge of the couch and taking her hand in his. “I’m real,” he continued. “You don’t need to be scared anymore. You’re safe here with me.”

 

Effie sat upright and embraced him tightly, breathing him in. “I dreamt you came so many times, but it was never real. Until now. You came for me, didn’t you? I’m in Twelve. Safe.”

 

“Yeah, I came for you,” he confirmed. “I’m just sorry it was so late. It’s all my fault, Eff. What happened to you in the war… I’ll never forgive myself for it. If only I’d insisted on bringing you to Thirteen like I’d planned. I should never have let myself be talked out of it.”

 

Effie leant back in his arms so that she could look him in the eye. “What the Capitol did to me wasn’t your fault, Haymitch. I’ve never blamed you for it.”

 

Haymitch looked down, too ashamed to hold her gaze. “Well, you should have done.”

 

“Why?” she asked. “At the end of the day, you’re just one man, Haymitch. You can’t take it all on yourself. How were you supposed to second-guess every little thing? I _should_ have been safer in the Capitol. Coin was certainly gunning for me after the surrender. Who’s to say what she’d have done if I’d turned up in Thirteen? Our prep team certainly didn’t get the warmest of welcomes. And she’d got you nicely out of the way while that was going on.”

 

“But are you telling me that if I’d given you the choice, you’d have stayed in the city?” countered Haymitch.

 

Effie drew in a long breath. “No,” she replied eventually, and Haymitch could tell she’d struggled with the decision to answer him honestly. “I’d have wanted to be with you. And the children. But that doesn’t change the fact that you did what you thought was best for me at the time. I’ll never reproach you for that.”

She was taken by a sudden fit of coughing and Haymitch patted her back in alarm as she struggled to catch her breath again.

 

“Ok?” he asked with concern as the episode abated.

 

“Mmm hmm. Could I have some more of that tea, do you think? My throat feels strange.”

 

“Doc said you’ve barely spoken in months. After nearly four decades of overuse it’s probably gone into shock,” responded Haymitch.

 

Effie narrowed her eyes and hit him weakly, but with determination, on his shoulder. Haymitch could not have described the joy this simple gesture caused him if he’d tried. She was still in there, his little firebrand. It was just a question of coaxing her back to the fore.

“C’mon,” he said, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You can finish that muffin while you’re at it.”

 

As Effie drank her tea and ate not just the one but, to Haymitch’s delight, two muffins, he filled her in on what had been going on with the kids and busied himself with washing the dirty dishes in his sink.

“Want me to run you a bath?” he offered. “And we should probably put your stuff away.”

 

Effie nodded. “Yes. I should get cleaned up. It’s just… I feel foolish to ask but… will you stay with me? I always loved baths, you know that, but after… Well, I’m not as bad as Johanna was, but I still find it…” she trailed off.

 

“Hey,” said Haymitch, touching her arm. “It’s not foolish at all. Nothing’s a problem. Whatever you need. Better let the geese out first though, and check for eggs. Didn’t get around to it earlier.”

 

“You really have geese?” questioned Effie. “I wasn’t sure if that’s what you’d said. I get so muddled; I hate it.”

 

“We’ll get you straight, I told you. Just gonna take a bit of time. You eat well, take your meds, get plenty of rest, keep to a routine. You’re going to be ok, Effie. It’s worked for the kids.”

 

Effie gave him a weak smile. She wanted to believe him, he could see that, but she certainly wasn’t convinced yet.

 

“Come and meet the geese,” he suggested. “They can be damned noisy but they’re attractive birds.”

 

Effie hung back as they approached the shed he’d started and Peeta had finished building, alarmed by the noisy honking from within.

 

“Don’t panic. They’re mostly just noise. They’ll leave you alone as long as you don’t make sudden movements…or have bread in your pockets. They’re gonna be pissed off though. Should have been out hours ago.” Haymitch unlocked the latch and the door opened to a stampede of irritable white. Effie pressed herself against Haymitch’s back as they dispersed, heading in the direction of the apple trees at the far end of the property.

 

“What d’you think?” asked Haymitch.

 

“They’re utterly terrifying,” replied Effie, “but absolutely beautiful. What on Earth possessed you to get _geese_?”

 

Haymitch shrugged. “Distraction, I suppose. And they reminded me of you.” He looked at her. Terrifying and absolutely beautiful. That’s how he’d always thought of her during those screaming matches they’d had during the Games. He’d been simultaneously a little intimidated and more than a little turned on. That’s how the whole thing between them had started.

Effie poked him in the ribs in admonishment, but there was a subtle, pleased smile on her lips that didn’t escape Haymitch’s attention.

 

“What do they eat then?” she asked, watching the retreating poultry.

 

“Grass mostly. Very helpful actually; I don’t have to mow it. And they like apples. They eat the windfalls from the trees back there. I give them grain sometimes too, and bread if it’s gone stale. Wanna help me look for eggs?”

 

Effie shuddered as they crossed the threshold of the shed. “The smell…”

 

“You get used to it,” shrugged Haymitch.

 

“Yes,” said Effie doubtfully, “it just reminds me of…” She trailed off and he realised it had brought something harrowing to mind.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Eff. Look, why don’t you go back indoors?”

 

But Effie’s eye had been caught by something just inside the doorway and she seemed to forget whatever awful memory the odour had stirred up as she leant forward, cautiously plucking something from the straw and wood shavings.

“It’s an egg!” she declared, staring in wonder at the beautiful oval held between her thumb and forefinger. “Look, Haymitch! It’s perfect.”

 

“Might have seen one or two before,” he replied. “Haven’t you?”

 

“I’ve just never really thought about where they come from before,” said Effie, still staring in wonder at the egg. “Will there be more?”

 

“For sure,” confirmed Haymitch. “This breed lays best in spring and autumn. Tails off in summer and usually nothing at all for a couple of months in winter. Here, take this.” He handed her a small wooden box cushioned with straw into which Effie reverently placed her egg.

 

“There!” she cried with delight, moving further into the shed. “A whole clutch of them!”

 

Haymitch stood back and watched in amazement as Effie worked through the shed, exclaiming at each discovery as though it were a tiny miracle. By the time she’d finished her search, her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed with pink. “Fifteen!” she beamed. “What do we do with them now?”

 

“Bring them into the house,” said Haymitch. “I’ll make you an omelette if you like.”

 

While Haymitch cracked eggs into a bowl and rounded up cheese and herbs, Effie sat at the table, absorbed in transferring the eggs to protective cartons. “What do you do with them all?” she asked. “You can’t possibly eat them all yourself.”

 

“No,” he confirmed. “The kids eat them too, of course. Peeta uses some for his bakery business. Any surplus after that, I take to town and swap for something else. I trade with Sae a lot. She’s got two goats, so I exchange eggs for cheese or milk. That’s her cheese in the omelette,” he continued, putting a plate in front of her.

Effie looked briefly daunted but took up her fork and started in on her portion. She ate slowly, but with an enthusiasm Haymitch hadn’t seen earlier.

 “So good,” she confirmed after a few moments. “You can really taste how fresh everything is. What were you saying just then about Peeta? That he has a bakery business?”

 

“Kind of,” said Haymitch. “His parents’ place in town was destroyed of course, but he’s keen to get new premises and start over again. Going to be a while before the town’s repaired enough though, so in the meantime he’s made an interim bakery in the kitchen of his own house. It’s not as though he needs the space since he lives with Katniss now. He takes a wagon to town every morning and sells what he’s made. Hardly charges for it, of course, but that’s Peeta for you. Says it’s not fair when the folks there don’t have much and we still get paid our victors’ allowance. He does it purely for the sake of it. He just loves to bake. Same as Katniss loves to hunt.”

 

“She still does that?” said Effie, surprised.

 

“Oh yeah,” replied Haymitch. “It’s in her blood. And very fortunate too – she keeps our table full and supplies half the district into the bargain. Peeta’s given his garden over to vegetable growing as well. We’d be quite the picture of self-sufficiency if only I could persuade him into distilling me a little something.”

 

Effie laid down her cutlery, a little under half the omelette remaining on her plate. “I’m sorry, Haymitch,” she said. “It was really lovely, but I just feel so full.”

 

“You’ve done fine,” replied Haymitch, scooping the leftovers into his mouth in two easy forkfuls. “You want that bath now?”

 

 

xXxXxXx

By the time the bath was run, Haymitch was regretting having ever suggested it. Effie had seemed so much improved over the past hour or two but, as she stood looking at the steaming tub of water and bubbles, all her anxiety seemed to have returned. She looked tiny and fragile there in her bathrobe, eyes wide, the pink in her cheeks gone, and she’d stopped talking again.

 

“Eff?” tried Haymitch. “Let’s forget it, huh? Would a shower be better? Or just a wash maybe?”

 

She surprised him by shaking her head. “I have to,” she whispered. “Just… don’t go.” Her inhibitions seemed to be completely drowned by her anxiety and she appeared to have no qualms about, or even awareness of, shrugging off her robe in front of him and holding his hand as she contemplated the terror of the deep water. Very slowly, she stepped forward, placing first one foot and then the other into the tub. She took a deep breath and then submerged herself so suddenly that Haymitch, still holding her hand, was almost knocked off his feet. Her head reappeared almost immediately and she struggled to get her breathing under control for a moment. “It’s ok, isn’t it?” she asked in a panicked tone once she could speak again.

 

“It’s just fine, Sweetheart,” promised Haymitch, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

She lay quietly in the water for some time and, when Haymitch felt her grip relax, he reached for her shampoo and massaged it soothingly into her scalp.

 

“What did they do to you, Sweetheart?” he forced himself to ask eventually. “You never told me.”

 

“I can’t tell you,” whispered Effie. “I don’t want you to know. You can guess at most of it anyway. You can see the scars. They’re so ugly, they were caused by ugly things. Now I’m an ugly thing too.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

 

Haymitch took his hands away from her scalp and moved around the tub so he could face her, raising her chin to look her in the eyes. “You never say that again, do you hear? You know what I see when I look at them? I see strength, I see defiance, I see determination. You got those marks for the sake of people you care for, for loyalty. That’s not ugly, Effie. That’s what real beauty is. I can’t pretend I feel no guilt when I see your scars, but I feel something else too. I feel proud. Yes, they’re a reminder of what you suffered, but they’re more than that. They can show you who you are when you’re doubting yourself.” He softened his tone now that he’d made his point. “Scars are all the rage around here anyway. Look at me, Katniss, Peeta.”

 

“A matching set,” murmured Effie. “A team.”

 

“That’s right,” said Haymitch. “Don’t you forget it. Why don’t you finish off here while I look for a clean towel? Water must be getting cool.”

 

Even as he made his way to the linen cupboard in the corridor, he knew he wouldn’t find any respectable article there. His towels were all ancient, threadbare things. The kids maybe though – if they’d made up the spare room, perhaps they’d have thought of it?

He pushed open the door of the room next to his. The place was unrecognisable. Everything was fresh and clean, the bed beautifully made up with white linen covered with little lavender sprigs that he knew he didn’t own. A soft lilac blanket was folded at the end of the bed and there seemed to be cushions everywhere. A vase of purple flowers stood on the nightstand and carefully selected items of Peeta’s work adorned the walls – peaceful paintings of the lake and the hills and, in a free-standing frame next to the vase, a simple pencil drawing split into quadrants, gold the only colour to feature in the otherwise grey sketches. Katniss top left, the mockingjay pin shining from her jacket; himself next to her, arms folded, the bangle glinting on his wrist; Peeta below Katniss, the locket around his neck; and finally, Effie, resplendent in her gold wig.

His gaze finally came to rest on what he’d come looking for – a stand at the foot of the bed held two mauve towels, one small, one large, and he picked them both up and headed back to the bathroom where he held the bigger one up like a screen for Effie to wrap herself in. He helped her to step out onto the bathmat and handed her the smaller towel for her hair.

 

“You gotta come see the room the kids made up for you,” he said. “I thought we could put your stuff away in there. My closets are kinda… disorganised.”

 

Effie nodded, and he headed back there whilst she finished up in the bathroom. He brought her bag in from the corridor and placed it on the bed to unpack the items he’d put into it yesterday. Could it really be only a day since he had first seen her again, huddled on the floor of her hospital room? It already seemed to belong to a distant dream, hazy and unreal.

 

Haymitch had already set up Effie’s cosmetics and hairbrush on the dressing table and had started hanging her dresses in the wardrobe when he sensed her entering the room. “Might need to shop for more clothes before it gets much colder,” he observed with his back to her. “Don’t think this lot will see you through one of our winters.”

 

When she made no response, he turned to see her standing motionless just inside the doorway, staring intently at the nightstand, silent tears running down her cheeks.

 

“What is it?” asked Haymitch, quickly crossing the room and folding her into his arms at once. “Is it the drawing? We can take it out if it upsets you.”

 

He felt Effie shake her head against his shoulder, but she said nothing and Haymitch simply held her, swaying gently from side to side as her tears soaked into his shirt. After a few moments, she straightened up a little, placing her small hands on his shoulders.

 

“I’m so sorry to keep doing this,” she said in a small voice. “I was never a crier, but these days I hardly seem to stop. It was seeing Peeta’s drawing after what you’d just said about my scars. The thought that they might really still see me as being on their team. It’s so lovely – the picture, this room… I couldn’t keep it in.”

 

“They _do_ still see you like that,” reassured Haymitch, “They’re really anxious about you. They were here waiting when the hovercraft landed last night. They’re desperate to see you, to talk to you themselves. I told them to give you today to settle in, but maybe tomorrow?”

Effie contemplated the suggestion with a troubled expression. “I do so want to see them. And they’ve taken such trouble making this room so beautiful, so welcoming. But whatever will they think of me like this? I’d feel so ashamed for them to witness it, to see what I’ve become.”

 

“Now that’s just ridiculous,” said Haymitch, guiding her to sit down on the bed. “No-one understands better than those two what it’s like to fall apart, how hard it is to put yourself back together. They won’t think any less of you, I promise. They could really help you if you let them, the way they’ve helped each other. No masks, no brave faces. That time has gone. Holding everything in… you shouldn’t, you mustn’t. It all needs to come out for you to heal.”

 

Effie nodded slowly. “Tomorrow. I will see them tomorrow.”

 

“Good,” said Haymitch. “Do you think you’ll be up to talking to the doc then as well? He says it’s real important for you to discuss your tor… your experiences. You’ve said don’t want me to know, but could you talk to him?”

 

“I suppose I can try,” said Effie, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

 

“Trying’s a good first step,” said Haymitch, fetching her hairbrush from the dressing table and gently untangling her damp curls. “No rush for anything. One day at a time, yeah?”

 

The telephone began to ring downstairs and Haymitch left her getting dressed to answer it. The kids’ number flashed on the display.

 

“Only me,” said Peeta’s voice as he picked up. “Just to let you know I’ve left the stuff we talked about on your back porch.”

 

“Thanks,” said Haymitch. “Might get on to it tomorrow. See if she wants to join in.”

 

“How’s she been?” asked Peeta

 

“Not bad since I rang you earlier. We talked a bit. She met the geese.”

 

“I’m guessing she’s not keen,” chuckled Peeta. “I can’t imagine care of poultry comes high up in Effie’s skill set.”

 

“Correct,” confirmed Haymitch. “She liked collecting eggs though, strangely enough. Even managed the lion’s share of the omelette I made her. She loves what you did with the room, by the way.”

 

“I’m glad,” said Peeta. “After everything she’s been through, we thought it was important for her to have somewhere pretty for herself.”

 

“You did good. She really wants to see you, but she’s worried what you’ll think of her. She’s agreed to try tomorrow. I thought for lunch maybe?”

 

“We’ll bring something over,” said Peeta. “And tell her she’s nothing to be anxious about with us.”

 

“I’ve tried, but you know how she is about the right impression and all that shit. Guess she must be improving if she cares about that though. Just bring something simple, yeah? Soup or something. She’s easily overwhelmed right now.”

 

“Of course,” replied Peeta. “Anything else you need?”

 

Haymitch paused. “Actually, there is something now that you mention it. Can you ask Katniss if she can spare some warm clothes? Effie’s stuff isn’t fit for our winters.”

 

“I’ll ask her. I doubt it’ll be up to Effie’s usual sense of style, but at least she won’t freeze. She’s staying then?”

 

“Yeah, she’s staying. Thanks, boy. We’ll see you both tomorrow then.”

 

As he hung up, his own words ran back through his head. She’s staying. He hadn’t even thought about the alternative answer to that question, had just assumed she’d be here long term. He’d have to watch that, not let himself get too used to her presence. The difference in her in just one day was startling. As soon as she was back on her feet she’d want to head back to the Capitol. Wouldn’t she?

 

The thought of her leaving stirred up something uncomfortable inside him and he quickly left the study and headed for the back porch to fetch in the supplies Peeta had left. He was sorting the vast array of Mason jars, sugars, vinegars and vegetables into some sort of order when Effie reappeared in the kitchen. She was dressed simply in a pair of soft grey trousers and a white silk shirt, over which she had slipped the heavy sweater Haymitch had given her earlier.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she began, “I took a pair of socks from one of your drawers. I don’t have any and I’ve no idea what happened to my slippers.”

 

Haymitch glanced down at her feet, encased in an enormous pair of navy wool socks and smirked. “Suits you. Reckon you should have gone shopping at Haymitch Fashions years ago – it’s a big improvement on your old style.”

 

Effie scowled at him, but he could tell she wasn’t really annoyed, more likely feeling some of the same relief that he did at slipping back into a little of their familiar banter.

“What’s all this?” she asked, eyeing the contents of the table.

 

“Said I’d help Peeta with his harvest. Remember I told you his garden is basically an allotment? We’ve had a bumper crop of just about everything this year, but we need to preserve the excess for winter now. Maybe you’d like to help me tomorrow?”

 

Effie trailed a hand slowly over the brightly-coloured produce: peppers, radishes, various gourds. She picked up a large tomato and held it to her nose, inhaling its scent.

“Yes,” she said, examining its perfect skin. “I think I would like that.”

 

The evening passed quietly. Haymitch rounded up the geese and warmed some of Peeta’s stew on the stove, Effie managing more than he could have hoped for. They moved to the lounge afterwards and sat in a companionable silence together on the sofa, a mindless comedy on the television providing a welcome background buzz. At some point, Effie had curled her feet up on the couch and leaned in towards Haymitch. He’d put his arm around her and tried not to think too much about how good it felt to have her nestled against his side. They sat like that for some time until Haymitch realised that Effie was beginning to doze off. He nudged her gently.

 

“Eff? You’ll get a stiff neck if you fall asleep there. Reckon it might be time to call it a night?”

 

“Mmm, maybe,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “I think those pills are knocking me out.”

 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Haymitch gathered her into his arms and carried her to the stairs. Neither of them commented, even though they both knew she was perfectly capable of walking. He set her down gently in the upstairs corridor.

“Not sure where you prefer to sleep,” he said awkwardly.

 

Effie’s face clouded with uncertainty, but after a moment she pushed back her shoulders and gave a decisive nod of her head. “I’ve got to start pulling myself together. I should sleep in this lovely room the children so kindly set up for me.”

 

“You sure?” ventured Haymitch.

 

Effie took a deep breath. “Yes. I think so. I will be fine, surrounded by Peeta’s beautiful pictures. I’ll go brush my teeth.” She hesitated. “Will you come say goodnight after?”

 

“Sure,” nodded Haymitch.

 

She headed down the corridor to the bathroom she’d used earlier and he stood still for a few seconds, looking at its now closed door. He’d been glad to see that show of determination to face her fears, but he couldn’t say he was completely happy with her decision either. He would worry about her being where he couldn’t see her, couldn’t be sure she was safe from what haunted her. He tried to push away the other emotion that lurked inside him; he wasn’t even sure what it was. Disappointment? Sadness? That he would not be comforted himself by the presence of her small weight beside him. He forced himself to shake it off and made for his own bedroom and bathroom.

He wouldn’t normally go to bed this early. Hell, most of the time he still didn’t go to bed at all. He tried to keep more normal hours these days, since Peeta had come back, since he’d got the geese, but he wasn’t particularly successful. Those demons that had lurked for him ever since his Games still awaited him in his bed. He didn’t drink the nights away as heavily as he had done in the past, but sleep was generally a broken affair – nightmarish dozes on the couch from which he awoke in a sweat, heart pounding. Last night he'd slept so well… She’s not here for you, he reminded himself sharply. This is all about getting _he_ r well, doing whatever _she_ needs.

 

By the time he’d brushed his teeth and changed into pyjama pants and a T-shirt, Effie was already in the guest bed, under the covers but propped up against the headboard, Peeta’s framed sketch in her hands. She replaced it on the nightstand when she heard his knock on the open door and smiled up at him.

 

“Got everything you need?”

 

“I think so.” She patted the space beside her on the bed. “Would you…Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

 

Haymitch gave his answer by sinking down next to her, on top of the quilt. She snuggled against his side and closed her eyes and he smoothed her hair away from her face, his hand moving to trail soothingly up and down her arm. He stared down at her delicate features, her eyelashes casting shadows across the perfect porcelain skin of her cheek. She was still so damned beautiful, even after everything. How many times had he looked at her like this, in other beds, his emotions a tangled knot inside him? She’d thought he’d never stayed the whole night with her back then, which was mostly true. It had been too dangerous, too alarming how much he’d been falling for her. He knew she’d thought it was because he didn’t care for her like she did for him. But he _had_ stayed. Maybe not the whole night, but he hadn’t always left as soon as she’d fallen asleep either. Sometimes he had lain beside her for hours, studying her, stroking her, memorising her, trying and failing to make sense of what she was to him, trying to ignore what she was making him feel…

Her breathing had slowed and he reluctantly removed himself from her side, tucking the covers around her. He switched off the light but left the door open and turned on the dim lamp in the corridor. “Goodnight, Sweetheart,” he murmured softly, taking one last glance at her sleeping form.

 

He hadn’t thought he would sleep, but he must have dozed off after all, waking suddenly to the echo of a scream in his ears. It wasn’t surprising. Everything screamed in his dreams. Maysilee still the most often of all, even after all these years, a cloud of pink birds surrounding her. The girl from One screamed too, the axe inches from her head. His mother screamed, and his brother, and his girl, a hologram of Snow’s serpent eyes floating above them. Katniss screamed in the clock arena, bright with lightning. Assorted children screamed in the City Circle. And Effie. Effie sometimes… Effie!

Haymitch bolted from the bed and lurched down the corridor to her room as fast as his limbs would allow. Her bed was empty and he struggled to keep calm. They were safe here, no-one could have got in and… He spotted her on the far side of the room, pressed back against the wall between the wardrobe and the window, eyes black and wild, an expression of utter terror on her face.

 

He was around the bed in a flash and, keeping his voice low and quiet, he spoke her name, reaching out to touch her arm.

She sprang into action then, her fist flying out and connecting painfully with his nose with surprising strength. She was a feral creature, claws out, raking at his face and arms as he tried to restrain her. He managed to get hold of her and pin her arms to her sides, her back pressed against his chest, but she fought on, sinking her teeth into his left forearm.

 

“It’s just me, Sweetheart,” continued Haymitch in the same low tone as before. “You’re safe, you’re safe here in Twelve with me. Effie. Come back to me, Sweetheart.”

Effie paused in her struggles and stood stock still and rigid in his arms. “Haymitch?” she whispered, and he felt the tension leave her body.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m here, I’ve got you safe.”

She twisted to face him. “You came for me,” she breathed with such heart-breaking relief that Haymitch had to blink and swallow hard. Her face clouded with bewilderment as she glanced about them. “This room is so pretty. This isn’t my cell. Where am I? Are you even real?”

“I’m real, Sweetheart. You’re in my house in Twelve. Eff? The war’s over, yeah? For a while now. You had a breakdown. I came to get you from the hospital. Remember?”

Effie still looked unsure, but she reached up to touch his cheek. “Are you real?” she breathed again, almost inaudibly. Her hand slid from his face to the back of his head and she drew him towards her. Before he could realise what she was about to do, her lips were on his and she kissed him softly, slowly, once, then again. She looked up at him. “You are real. And you’re bleeding.”

Haymitch touched his nose where blood was indeed beginning to seep from one nostril. “It’s nothing,” he said, wiping it away with the back of his hand.

“How did… What… Did I?” she stuttered. “I need some air.”

“Great idea,” said Haymitch, grabbing the quilt from the bed. “Come on.”

 

Effie wound her arm through his free one, pressing close to his side as she followed him out of the room, down the stairs and through to the kitchen where he opened the back door. She hesitated then, peering out into the night and then backing away from the door.

“I can’t go out there,” she whispered. “It’s so dark. I’m afraid of so much dark.”

“Dark?” countered Haymitch. “It’s not dark out there at all. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and guided her out to the old bench on the porch. Even though it was only early autumn the air was chilly, and they sat close, his arm around her back. “Look there,” he instructed, pointing up with his other hand. “That’s not dark, is it?”

 

Effie’s gaze followed his finger, up into the clear night sky so beautifully spangled with thousands of shining stars.

“Oh!” Her sigh was one of awe. She said nothing more but leant her head back onto Haymitch’s shoulder to better take in the sight. They sat like that for the longest time, just staring up at the sky. Haymitch felt a renewed enthusiasm for the spectacle, vicariously experiencing her wonder.

“I’ve never seen anything so breath-taking,” whispered Effie eventually. “Not even at the city planetarium. Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” replied Haymitch. “On clear nights at least. You never get a show like this in the Capitol. Too much artificial light.”

Haymitch pointed out Orion’s Belt and The Great Bear and various other constellations he could remember, and Effie seemed to drink it all in.

“Oh, you’ll like these two,” he added, pointing at first one, and then a second, bright star some distance apart. “Altair and Vega – a legendary pair of star-crossed lovers.”

Effie turned her head towards him. “Go on,” she requested.

“Well. The legend varies, but the theme is always roughly the same. In the version I know best, Vega was an immortal, the daughter of a God of the skies and dressmaker to the Gods. Her needlework was exquisite, but she was sad and lonely, stitching day in day out by the celestial river we know as the Milky Way. One day, while working by the river, she chanced to meet Altair, a lowly cow-herder with a talent for music. They fell in love but, to cut a long story short, the Gods became angry. He was a mortal and she wasn’t, for a start. And such was the couple’s devotion and so deep their love that they both neglected their work. The Gods widened the river between them until it was so large that the lovers could no longer reach each other. According to the legend, Vega and Altair cry so hard that on just one day of the year all the magpies on Earth take pity on them. They fly up to form a bridge across the heavenly river, so the lovers can spend one night together.”

 

“That’s so beautiful,” breathed Effie, “And so tragic. Where do you know such a story from?”

“Might have seemed like it, but I didn’t spend _all_ my time in the Capitol drunk. Used to go to bookshops sometimes. Museums.”

“And that’s where you found this story? In a book you bought?”

“Actually no,” said Haymitch. “Not that particular one. It was in a book I borrowed from Finnick. They teach ‘em everything there is to know about the stars in Four. They’re an important navigation tool for sailors.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Effie. “If you know what you’re looking for they’ll bring you home. Even if it’s not somewhere you want to be. With that kind of knowledge, I wonder why half of District Four didn’t just set sail for the great blue yonder. There’s got to be more out there than just Panem. Small communities at least.”

“The usual reason,” said Haymitch. “Fear of your family or friends being punished. It did happen though, sometimes,” he added.

“How do you know?” asked Effie, still staring up at the star-crossed lovers.

“Mags,” replied Haymitch. “She wasn’t always on her own. She was eighteen when she was reaped and already engaged. A fact that didn’t do anything to harm her popularity in her Games. So tragic. Capitol audience loved that. As a matter of fact, it was thinking of Mags that gave me the idea of how to play things with the kids once Peeta had shown his hand.”

“So, she got married?” prompted Effie, “After her Games?”

“Yes,” confirmed Haymitch. “Got married and had a son. Just after his twelfth birthday she came to a decision. The reaping was approaching, and you know as well as I do that a victor’s child… She couldn’t bear it. She came up with a plan that one night, when he was down for night fishing, her husband would take their son on board with him. Not really an unusual occurrence for kids there to learn the ropes like that. His crew mates that night, a husband and wife with a twelve-year-old of their own, were in on the plan. The five of them would set out on their scheduled trip but never come back. They’d picked a stormy night, planned to stage evidence of a shipwreck. Plan seemed to work – at least nobody in Four ever heard of them again.”

“Poor Mags,” murmured Effie. “Why ever didn’t she go with them?”

“Too risky,” said Haymitch. “A few fishermen and their kids disappearing is one thing, but a victor? She’d have had no reason to be on that boat, she wasn’t assigned any work. The authorities might well have gone looking. The fact that she stayed behind made the shipwreck plausible, threw them off the scent.”

“But she never knew what became of them,” said Effie sadly. “Whether they made it to safety, whether there was anyone else out there. No wonder she gave herself so easily for the three kids in that poison fog. It must have been ingrained in her – a lifetime of sacrifice. I feel awful that I never even knew she’d been a mother.”

“No reason you should have,” shrugged Haymitch. “Wasn’t exactly something she broadcast.”

“I hope they made it,” said Effie. “I hope she’s got great-grandchildren living a peaceful life somewhere.”

“Me too,” said Haymitch. “She believed they did. It gave her strength, thinking of them out there somewhere. Happy and free. You cold, Sweetheart? Wanna go indoors?”

Effie shook her head. “I’m fine. I want to stay out here. It’s calming.” She reached up and touched his face where thin red lines had begun to appear – the legacy of her earlier attack. “I did this to you, didn’t I?” she said, tracing the marks with her fingers. “And I hit you. I’m so sorry, Haymitch. I thought… I didn’t know…”

“Effie, it’s fine,” Haymitch reassured her. “It’s always tough to come back to reality after a nightmare. I’m no different, you know that. It’s my fault, I approached you all wrong. I should never have tried to touch you when you were still in that state.”

“I didn’t think you were real,” said Effie. She paused. “Not until I kissed you. That felt real.”

 

Haymitch said nothing, but looked away from her, back up to the sky. He’d been trying hard _not_ to think about that kiss, about how good it had felt. It would have been so easy to deepen it, to lose himself in her once again. Except he couldn’t. She was so fragile, it would be an abuse to take advantage of that. She was mixed up, emotions all over the place - she couldn’t know what she wanted. That’s not the main reason, though, nagged the little voice in his head. She might not know what she wants, but you do. You know it very well…

Soft lips brought him back to reality. The long, slow peck on his mouth sent shivers through his body.

“Thank you, Haymitch,” whispered Effie. “For everything.” She swung her legs up onto the bench, tucking them under the quilt and nestling her head in Haymitch’s lap, angled so that she could still see the stars. “Do you think it’s tonight?” she said, “The night that Altair and Vega get to be together?”

 

Well, shit. Was she hinting at what he thought she was? Couldn’t be. But if so, Haymitch knew he had to shut this down before temptation got the better of him. “No,” he stated firmly. “It’s in July. Seventh day of the seventh month. Doesn’t always even work. If it rains that day, they say that’s their tears. ‘Cos it wasn’t possible. You rest now, Sweetheart. Been a hard night for you.”

 

Effie said nothing more and Haymitch drew the quilt tighter around her, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers. She was clearly exhausted, and it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. Very carefully, Haymitch lifted her up and carried her back through the house and up the stairs. He paused in her doorway and then turned back. He couldn’t part with her again tonight. He needed to keep her safe, to be able to reassure her if the nightmares came again. Except it wasn’t just that, was it? He also wanted her there for _him_. Those kisses… “You are a despicable man, Haymitch Abernathy,” he announced to himself as he lay her on his own bed and brought the quilt over the pair of them, turning in towards her so he could breathe in the scent of her.

 

They both slept soundly until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

At breakfast, Effie fretted and fussed over Haymitch’s bruised nose and the livid scratches on his face. He was forced to locate antiseptic and submit to her ministrations before she would consent to eat. She was distraught when she discovered the bitemark on his arm, appalled at her own behaviour.

“I’m so sorry, Haymitch,” she repeated, “I don’t know how I could have done this to you! I thought… I thought…”

“Sweetheart, I told you it’s fine. It’s my own fault. I, of all people, should know not to touch someone in the throes of a nightmare.”

She dabbed at the wound gently. “Well, I’m still sorry. I can’t believe you were brave enough to take me to your bed after what I’d done.”

“Yeah,” said Haymitch slowly. “Look, Effie… about that. You were asleep and I… I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone. In case the dreams came back.”

“Thank you,” she responded, searching his first aid box for a plaster. “You were right. I feel safer next to you. I can relax more. I’m just sorry to be such a disruption.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said decisively. “Until you’re feeling stronger. As for disruption… truth be told, I slept better with you there too.”

Effie remained silent, seemingly concentrated on affixing the plaster, but the soft smile that played on her lips did not escape Haymitch’s notice.

 

“Better let those geese out,” he said once breakfast was done with. “You wanna collect the eggs again?”

Effie beamed. “You know what? I really do.”

She seemed just as enraptured as the day before, darting from place to place in the shed, uttering small noises of triumph whenever she happened upon her bounty. Haymitch leant against the porch railings to watch her, an amused smirk on his face.

“Ten!” she declared at last, bringing them over to him. “And just as well! I think I could get a taste for your omelettes.”

Haymitch smiled as he took the box from her. “Good. You could do with building up. The kids are bringing lunch over later; you’ll enjoy that too, I reckon. Peeta knows what he’s doing with flavours. Reckon I ought to clean the goose shed out this morning, put fresh straw and wood shavings down. I was thinking that maybe while I’m doing that, you might phone Dr Crimsen? Get started on some therapy?”

Effie’s cheerful expression fell. “I don’t know, Haymitch. He’ll want me to tell him things. Things I don’t think I can revisit. Or want to.”

“I think he’ll go gently,” said Haymitch. “He doesn’t seem a bad sort. For a Capitol. Will you try?”

Effie sighed heavily. “I suppose so. But I’m not making any promises.”

“Ok,” replied Haymitch. “Let’s go to the study. Strike while the iron’s hot.”

 

Only a few moments later, he was back in the goose shed, having left Effie with the ringing telephone in her hand. She hadn’t reappeared, so he guessed the doc must have picked up. She hadn’t been keen and he hoped she didn’t feel he’d forced her. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable or upset, but he also knew she desperately needed the treatment she should have started a year ago. He felt conflicted, out of his depth, and took his frustration out on the soiled straw, raking it with far more than the necessary energy. Back at the clinic, it had seemed so simple. He had just known that he needed to get her out of there, everything had been so obvious. Now he was hopelessly muddled, stabbing in the dark.

 

By the time he’d composted the old goose bedding and laid down fresh, he’d worked up quite a sweat and re-entered the house to get washed up. The study door was still shut and he resisted the temptation to linger, heading on up to the shower. It was still closed when he came back down and, unsure of what to do, he made for the kitchen and boiled some water, setting a fresh pot of Effie’s tea to brew. The liquor bottles on the top shelf caught his eye as he opened the cupboard where the mugs were kept. His anxiety levels were running pretty high… It was ridiculous, he knew. She was perfectly safe, just a few metres away, but still… She was being so brave. He’d never confronted a single one of his traumas. He’d never seek therapy for any of the horrors he’d been party to, not even now that he could. He could never speak of those things to a living soul. And yet he’d asked her to do just that. And she had complied, even knowing what it would cost her. He poured a generous measure from the closest bottle and tossed it back in one gulp. He was about to pour himself another when he sensed a presence behind him. He turned, each hand occupied with either glass or bottle, and there she stood on the other side of the table, deathly pale and drained.

 

“You’re still drinking,” she observed. “I didn’t realise. I thought perhaps…”

“It’s not so much,” he interjected. “Just enough to keep the shakes at bay. I’m not gonna get wasted or anything, Sweetheart. I’m still gonna be fine to take care of you.”

“Thank you,” breathed Effie. “I’m sorry to be so… I _am_ grateful, Haymitch.”

 

Haymitch managed a small half-smile. “So, how’d it go?” he asked tentatively.

 

Effie seemed to sway ever so slightly and she reached out an arm to steady herself on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, staring down at her hand as it gripped the wood. “It was… I…” She lifted her head. “Could you… Could you just hold me for a moment?”

 

Haymitch moved wordlessly around the table and folded her into a comforting embrace. Effie rested her forehead against his shoulder and exhaled hard, as though she were trying to breathe the traumatic memories clean out of her body. They stood like that for some time, until Haymitch guided her to a chair and slid a steaming mug over to her. “I thought you might like some more of Katniss’s tea.”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it gratefully. “It is somehow oddly soothing.”

She didn’t speak for a while and he sat patiently at the table, sipping from the glass of water he’d replaced the liquor with.

“Dr Crimsen says I’m doing well,” she stated eventually. “He filled me in on my time at his clinic. It helped me to sort out some of the confusion.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Then he wanted me to talk about why my father’s death provoked such an extreme reaction.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, Effie,” said Haymitch. “I didn’t say it before, but I am. Losing a parent is never easy.”

“I hadn’t thought before about why I took it so hard,” she responded. “We’d never been close, my parents and I. I was mostly brought up and looked after by a string of nannies and other servants. My father was an aloof and distant character in my life. I’d barely seen him in a very long time, even after the war. But then, when he died… He was the last one, you see? I’d no other relatives at all and as for friends – well, there were none of those left either. Perhaps there never truly had been. I’m ashamed to admit it, Haymitch, but I’d been struggling for a long time. I couldn’t find work. I wasn’t exactly a popular figure after the rebellion, not with Capitols or District people. Even though we didn’t really see each other, my father was always my safety net. When I was selling bits and pieces to buy food or pay the bills, I’d think to myself, ‘I can always go to Father if it gets worse. He won’t see me starving or homeless.’ And then suddenly he was gone and it was as though my last little bit of security had been yanked out from under me.”

Haymitch stared at his hands through the water glass. “Why didn’t you come to us, Effie? To me? Did you really think we wouldn’t help you?”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “I knew without a shadow of a doubt that you would. But I’d decided very early on to rule out burdening you with any of it.”

“But why on Earth? After all these years? Why?”

“Everything bad that ever happened to the three of you was at the hands of Capitols. Capitols like me. I made a promise to myself when you and Katniss left for Twelve that, as far as it was in my power, I would never let Capitols burden you again. You deserved a peaceful life, all three of you.”

Haymitch began to object, but Effie cut him off. “It’s a moot point anyway. I couldn’t even follow through with that one simple thing when it came to it. In the end my noble principles turned to dust. Once I was taken to hospital, once my mind was back… _there_ , that was all I craved, the only thing dear to me. My victors. You.”

Haymitch reached out across the table and clasped her hands in his own. “Never think that again, you hear? You’re no burden. You’re one of us. We’re your family, Effie. Have been for a long time.”

“You truly mean that?” whispered Effie, avoiding his eye.

“I truly mean it,” he confirmed. “I’ll say it as many times as you need me to. So will the kids.”

“The children!” Effie’s eyes flew to the clock in alarm. “They could be here any minute! They can’t see me like this!”

“Hush,” said Haymitch soothingly. “They wouldn’t give two hoots. But if it bothers you that much, why don’t you pop upstairs and sort yourself out while I set the table?”

Effie flashed him a grateful smile and rose carefully from her chair. Haymitch let out a sigh of frustration once she’d disappeared upstairs. Just when she was starting to open up to him… Baby steps, he reminded himself. They had plenty of time. And seeing the kids right now was hardly going to be a bad thing, especially Peeta. No-one could ever stay down for long around that boy.

 

Haymitch had set out bowls, plates and glasses and was fetching cutlery when he heard the shuffle of boots being removed on his back porch. He opened the back door to let his visitors in and went back to his task. Peeta entered first, bearing a large pan which he immediately set on the stove, Katniss following with a wicker basket covered over with a chequered cloth.

“Afternoon, Haymitch,” exclaimed the boy cheerfully. “Is Effie up? Does she want to see us?”

“She certainly does!” cried a voice from the doorway and they all turned to see Effie beaming at them, not with her perfect escort’s expression, but with a wide smile of real joy. She’d made a real effort, Haymitch could see that. She’d redone her hair and applied a subtle touch of make-up; just enough to hide the paleness of her complexion. The enthusiasm though… that was genuine all right. Her eyes were sparkling as she crossed the room to embrace first Peeta, who hugged her back tightly, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then Katniss who responded as well as that girl ever could, despite her habitual stiffness, moving the basket awkwardly to her side.

“We’re really glad you’re here, Effie,” she said seriously, taking the older woman’s hand in hers, and Haymitch could see Effie’s eyes starting to fill.

“And I’m glad _you’r_ e here too,” said Haymitch, grabbing the basket from her other hand, thus deflecting the attention away from Effie. “I’m starving! What did you bring me?”

Katniss snatched the basket back and began unloading its contents onto the serving platters Peeta had by now placed in the middle of the table. “Guests first!” she admonished sarcastically. “Where are your manners?” She startled a little as she looked at their former mentor. “What the hell have you done to your face?”

Haymitch saw Effie flinch out of the corner of his eye. “She had a bad night,” he shrugged.

He was grateful for, but not surprised by, the tiny nod of understanding both kids gave before moving on wordlessly from that last remark. They all had a tendency to lash out in the grip of a nightmare or a flashback, had all caused the others a minor injury at one time or another since they’d been back. They were no different from Effie and he hoped she would see that.

“Shall I serve up?” asked Peeta. “I’ve made creamy pumpkin soup with toasted pine nuts and there’s a variety of different breads and rolls to go with it, plus butter and a selection of cheeses. Oh, and salad from the garden.

“It sounds delicious, my dear,” said Effie, “and smells even better. If it’s even half as good as your breakfast pastries, we’re in for a treat!”

They took their places as Peeta ladled out soup and Katniss poured water into their glasses from the large jug she’d filled at the tap. No-one spoke for a few moments as they started in on their soup, which was indeed as fine as anything produced in the Capitol.

“Is this from one of your own pumpkins, Peeta?” asked Effie. “Haymitch tells me you’re quite the gardener.”

“I’m not sure about that,” replied Peeta modestly. “We’ve been very lucky this year. But it is from our own crop. We’re harvesting so much of everything right now, it’s hard to keep up. Haymitch said you might be up to helping us with some of the preserves. No pressure though, of course.”

“I will certainly try,” said Effie with a smile, “but I can’t guarantee the results. Cooking was never something I much tried my hand at, I’m afraid.”

“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” said Peeta encouragingly. “We’re so glad you’ve come to us, Effie. How are you feeling?”

 

Haymitch caught Effie’s eye as she opened her mouth to speak and he hoped she understood what he was trying to remind her of. No masks, no brave faces…

“I’ve not been having a good time of it, Peeta, to tell you the truth. I… I rather lost my way in the Capitol. A breakdown, I believe you’d call it. But being here with you all… well, I feel a lot better already. It’s like a huge sense of relief, doesn’t that sound silly?”

“No,” said Katniss quietly, “it doesn’t sound silly at all.”

“We’re here for you,” confirmed Peeta. “We want to do whatever we can to make you as comfortable as you can be.”

“Comfortable!” exclaimed Katniss suddenly, before Effie’s emotions could get the better of her. “I completely forgot!”

 

She sprang up and opened the back door, disappearing briefly, only to return with a large box which she lay on the floor next to Effie’s chair.

“What is it?” asked Effie, smiling up at her.

“Oh, just some clothes,” said Katniss a little bashfully, sliding back into her seat. “Haymitch said you didn’t have suitable stuff for winter here. I’m sure they’re not your usual standard or style, but at least you won’t be cold.”

 

Effie bent down to open the box and began to remove items carefully. Sure enough, a lot of it was far too practical to appeal to her sense of fashion: flannel shirts and thick, fleece-lined trousers, sturdy snow boots, but there were some rather lovely items there too: soft sweaters in pretty pastels, a selection of beautifully crocheted hats, scarves and mittens, a well-tailored heavy wool coat, a delightful striped skirt. And even the plainer items – they were so soft, _so warm_.

“They’re lovely, Katniss,” said Effie, evidently surprised to find she really meant it. “Are you sure you can spare all these?”

“It’s fine,” said Katniss. “Most of them aren’t actually even mine. They’re my mother’s – she’s about your size.”

“Oh,” said Effie. “And you’re sure she won’t mind lending them?”

“She’d rather they were used. She has no purpose for them. She doesn’t need that sort of thing in Four and she’ll never come here again. It’s not a loan. You can have them.”

“Well, I’m very grateful,” said Effie, who had not missed the flash of pain that had crossed the girl’s face when she spoke of her mother. “I am highly spoiled today! These lovely clothes and this delicious meal which we must all finish before it gets cold!”

 

Haymitch dropped Effie a sly wink as they all bent their heads over their meals once more. It had been just the right thing to say at the right time. Katniss was still raw over her mother’s desertion and usually avoided mentioning her. Hell, they all had no-go topics just as Effie did. It was good for her to know that.

 

They moved into the lounge for dessert at Peeta’s suggestion. He’d made a chocolate cake – a rare and decadent treat, since chocolate was so hard to come by – and they served it with steaming mugs of coffee. Conversation was polite but also warm. Effie’s breakdown was not mentioned again, though she thanked both kids profusely for the beautiful room they’d set up for her and was definitely a little misty-eyed when she told Peeta how much she loved the gold and grey sketch.

 

By the time the kids left, promising to drop them round something for a light supper later on, Haymitch could tell that Effie was exhausted. It was to be expected, he told himself. She’d barely spoken in months and today she’d been conversing with the three of them, plus Dr Crimsen, for hours on end. Add to that the side effects of the pills, the good food, and everything else… She was almost asleep on the couch when he came back from seeing the kids out and he reached once more for the checked blanket, lifting her feet up off the floor to the seat and covering the length of her. Already half unconscious, Effie gripped his wrist. “Kiss me before you go,” she whispered.

 

Fuck. Haymitch felt suddenly thrown off balance. That was exactly what she’d said to him that last night, the night the arena blew, when he’d tried to creep from her bed unnoticed to make the rendezvous. The last time she’d been whole and undamaged.

He hesitated, then leant over and pressed a firm, yet gentle kiss to her lips, and she let out a small sigh of contentment, just as she had that night, her breathing now beginning to slow into a sleeper’s rhythm.

 

Haymitch left the room as quickly as he could without disturbing her, his lips burning from the touch of hers. How he loathed himself. Here she was now, in his house, so broken and yet so fucking _grateful_ for every small thing he did for her. But if it had not been for him, she’d never have been in this mess in the first place. She ought to despise him by rights, the way he despised himself. She might have forgiven him his mistakes, but he never would _, never_. What right did he have to enjoy the warmth of her lips now? It didn’t matter what he felt; he couldn’t have her. He didn’t deserve her and he wouldn’t abuse her vulnerability. She shouldn’t fall for him again.

Haymitch grabbed the liquor bottle he’d opened earlier from the cupboard and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. He stared at it in his hands for a few moments. He shouldn’t drink with her in the house to take care of, but he was making his own skin crawl, thinking about how he’d left her that night, and he knew it was the only way to chase that feeling away. Decisively, he raised the bottle and tipped its contents straight down his throat, stopping only when his air supply ran out. He lost count of how many times he repeated the action but, at some point, the bottle was empty and his body grew heavy. He slumped forward onto the table.

He might have escaped consciousness, but Effie still plagued his dreams. Over and over, that final evening replayed itself: how he’d suggested those hours in her room together, telling her she needed the rest and that nothing would happen before midnight, and all the while he’d been lying, or at least not telling the truth, which surely amounted to the same thing? He’d wanted to say goodbye to her, even though she couldn’t have known that’s what they were doing, and worse, he’d wanted to lull her to sleep so he could make good his escape. His dream unwound the scene just as it had been. Every touch to his body and to hers, the way her face had looked as he’d moved inside her, the way her hair had curled over his arm as she’d slept afterwards, his hand reaching out to stealthily switch off her alarm clock. The dream even played out the probable subsequent sequence of events that he’d tried so hard not to imagine: Effie waking to a cold bed, disoriented by the lateness of the hour, her door kicked open, rough hands grabbing her, angry shouts, a gun pressed to her back. His name screamed by her lips, and now dream Effie seemed somehow to breach the distance between them because her small hands were raining blows down upon his shoulder. He would not resist, he deserved her punishment…

 

The gush of ice-cold water was a shock and he jerked his body upright, the penthouse fading away to reveal his kitchen… his kitchen back in Twelve, and there stood Effie, but it was wrong, all wrong. Effie only stood in his kitchen on reaping days, dolled up to the nines, the picture of perfect confidence. This Effie was dressed simply, her beautiful hair on display instead of a ridiculous wig. This Effie didn’t look confident – she looked terrified. He opened his mouth to address her, but his voice sounded wrong, the arm he stretched out towards her not behaving as he told it to.

“Oh, Haymitch! Thank goodness! I thought you were dead! You said you wouldn’t get drunk! You said you’d take care of me!”

Everything rushed back in on Haymitch at once. The clinic, the hovercraft, Effie under the stars on the porch, asleep in his bed, lunch with the kids, ‘Kiss me before you go…’

“’M sorry, Eff,” he slurred. “Couldn’t stand myself any longer. Had to get away for a bit. Didn’t work though. Just let you down all over again. Hate what I’ve done to you.”

 

Effie placed an arm around his shoulders and he instantly threw his own arms around her waist, burying his face in her left hip with a gulping sob. He’d always wanted her close when he’d been sad-drunk and it seemed that hadn’t changed.

“Shh, you silly man,” she soothed. “I just had a fright, that’s all. You haven’t let me down. Unless we’re counting this piece of foolish talk right here. We’re not going back to this, Haymitch. Life’s too short, too precious. Now, let’s get you sobered up.”

Effie extracted herself from his grip, passed him the kitchen towel to dry himself off, and refilled the jug whose contents she’d previously emptied on his head. She found a large tumbler and filled it to the brim.

“Drink that,” she commanded. “All of it.”

“Bossy,” he mumbled, but he did as he was told. There was something comforting in the familiarity of the situation.

“You should lie down for a while,” announced Effie once she’d made him drink a second tumbler. “See if you can sleep it off.”

Haymitch nodded, compliant like a child. “Lay with me?” he asked hopefully.

“All right,” she replied, extending her hand and leading him upstairs to his bedroom. Haymitch flopped down on his back on top of the covers and Effie positioned herself close to his side, cushioning her head on his chest. One of his hands gravitated at once to her hair, looping it lazily through his fingers.

“Really sorry, Eff. You deserve someone better looking after you.”

Effie raised her head and looked directly at him, propping her chin on her hand. “So you’re not perfect, Haymitch. That isn’t news to me. But know this: leaving the question of who deserves what out of this – you are the only person I want looking after me. The _only_ one. I feel safe with you. Even when you’re drunk.”

“Won’t happen again,” he promised solemnly.

“Each day as it comes,” said Effie. “You said yourself, we’ve got plenty of time.” She lay back down, clasping one of his hands in hers.

His eyelids grew heavy.

 

xXxXxXx

 

When Haymitch awoke, dusk was beginning to fall. He moved cautiously, but the inevitable headache was slight, probably thanks to the water Effie had made him drink. She was no longer in the room and, as he came to, he could hear faint noises of her presence from the kitchen. He swung his legs slowly off the bed and paid a visit to the bathroom before trudging downstairs to find her.

 

The kitchen – which he’d thought he was doing a good job of keeping presentable – was positively gleaming. All traces of their lunch with the kids had been tidied away and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee met his nostrils.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he croaked to the small figure rearranging the contents of the fridge. “Having fun playing house?”

Effie closed the door and turned around. “Do you mind? I was just going to clear away the lunch things, but your system seemed rather illogical and I just…” She trailed off.

“’S fine,” he nodded. “Whatever makes you happy. Any chance of some of that coffee?”

“Of course,” said Effie, pouring him a mugful. “How are you feeling? How’s the head?”

Haymitch waved away her concern as he took a seat at the table. “Not too bad. I’ve had a lot worse.”

“Oh, Peeta called in briefly just now,” she remembered. “Such a kind boy. He brought us some supper. Turkey casserole, I think he said. It’s in the fridge. I told him you were resting and he said he’d lock up the geese on his way out. Do you want to eat now?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Could do with clearing my head first.”

“A walk, maybe,” suggested Effie. “Before it gets too dark?”

Haymitch shook his head. “Don’t wanna leave you on your own. Unless you fancy coming with me?”

Effie looked doubtful. “What if we see people? I was Twelve’s escort remember? I can’t imagine they’d be thrilled by my presence and I don’t think I can face the hostility right now.”

“It’ll be ok,” said Haymitch. “Not many of Twelve’s original residents here these days. And, strange as it might seem, my opinion seems to count for something round here. There’ll be no trouble if you’re with me. Or the kids.”

Effie nodded slowly, but she still seemed unsure.

“’S nearly dark anyway. Most people’ll be home by now. I can take us on a quiet route.”

She seemed to come to a decision quite suddenly. “All right. I’ll go and change into something more suitable.” She rummaged in the box Katniss had left for a few minutes, selecting various items. “Drink that coffee while I’m gone,” she ordered. “All of it.”

“Yes, ma’am!” said Haymitch, giving her a mock salute as she made to leave the room. She scowled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes and he could just tell she found the familiar territory reassuring. She wasn’t the only one.

 

Haymitch had finished the coffee, fetched his coat, and was struggling into his boots by the back door when Effie returned. She looked absolutely adorable. Mrs Everdeen’s coat and boots appeared to be a perfect fit and she had teamed them with a matching set of hat, scarf and gloves in a cornflower blue that brought out the colour of her eyes and perfectly complemented her hair. The effect was beautiful, but also lent her a more down-to-earth, innocent air than anything he’d ever seen her wear before. It made him want to protect her from the world.

 

“Well?” she asked, a little self-consciously. “How do I look?”

Haymitch swallowed hard. “Good. You look as though you could have been born in Twelve. Merchant class, of course, like Peeta, and Katniss’s mother, but still a native.”

 

Ten years ago, that would have been the worst insult he could have thrown at Effie – suggesting she could be mistaken for someone from a district – but right now she flushed slightly with pleasure and smiled.

“Do you really think so? I’m glad. It’s been such a long time since I fit in anywhere.”

“Looks good on you,” confirmed Haymitch, grabbing his torch from the windowsill and reaching for the door handle before he could do something stupid like kissing her. “Let’s be off then.”

 

Effie tucked her arm through Haymitch’s as they made their way round the side of the house to the green.

“Don’t you have gloves? Or a hat?” she wondered.

“’S really not that cold, Sweetheart,” replied Haymitch. “Only autumn. Gonna get a lot worse than this. Don’t you remember how it was when you came to fetch us for The Tour?”

Effie frowned. “Was it really colder than this?”

“For sure. Much. Guess you weren’t this skinny then though. And you haven’t really been outside in months. Bound to take a bit of getting used to.”

 

They passed by Katniss’s house where the lights were on and by Peeta’s official residence where they were not. All the other houses were in darkness too, apart from a couple immediately before the village gates.

“I didn’t realise anyone else lived up here,” stated Effie.

“Just those two. Thom and Bristel. They were the first back in Twelve to start the clearing operation. There wasn’t anywhere else for them to stay. The others have never been occupied, despite the housing shortage.”

“Why?” asked Effie.

“No-one’s ever really said, but I think mostly out of respect for Katniss, to give us our privacy. It’s not just that though. It’s got bad connotations, this village. Too much a reminder of the Games, of Snow, of how it was. People want to look forward. I reckon Thom and Bristel will move back to town as soon as they can.”

“What about you?” said Effie. “Will you leave here too?”

Haymitch thought for a moment. “Nah, don’t think so. My house sure as hell doesn’t hold any good memories, but town’s only gonna get busier. People aren’t really my thing. Besides, I wouldn’t want to abandon the kids up here. Pretty sure Katniss will never move. She might hate the way she got that house, but it was the last place she lived properly with her sister. Don’t reckon she’ll ever want to let that go. Especially with her mother not coming back.”

“I still don’t understand how she could have done that,” said Effie. “I know she was grieving for Prim, but to abandon her surviving child, her only relative…”

“She’s not a strong woman,” said Haymitch. “I’m not excusing what she did, but I think that’s the reason. She fell apart when her husband was killed, never got over it. The kids nearly starved from what I gather – would have done if Katniss hadn’t managed to pull it all together. Katniss might have forgiven her eventually, but she was detached from her ever after that, didn’t trust her. Katniss was stronger than she was. Her mother was intimidated by that, I think.”

“She’d been through a lot, I know,” said Effie, “but I like to think I wouldn’t have done that. Abandoned my child at her lowest point.”

“You wouldn’t have,” said Haymitch, absolutely sure of it. “You were always strong. Determined. Feisty. Loyal.”

“Not so strong anymore,” said Effie sadly.

Haymitch stopped and looked at her. “You will be,” he declared. Give it time.”

 

Effie stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A grateful kiss, to thank him for his kindness, but it was telling that she’d placed it on his mouth and not his cheek. He wasn’t sure how many more of those he could take but, at the same time, he knew he didn’t want them to stop either. At a loss for any other response, he started to walk again, quickening the pace.

They walked mostly in silence down the track from the village which bypassed the town, heading toward the meadow. It had turned green again that spring and was without doubt the prettiest place in Twelve right now, bordering the woods on one side, the trees boasting their multi-coloured autumn foliage.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” breathed Effie as they reached the meadow’s edge. The last streaks of daylight glinted on the reds and goldens of the leaves, giving them a rich and magical quality. “So peaceful,” she added.

“Yeah,” agreed Haymitch. “It’s a good spot as far as resting places go.”

Effie looked at him quizzically.

“Of course. You wouldn’t know. It’s where we buried everyone. The victims of the fire-bombing. It was just mud last winter. Never thought it would come back to life again, but it did.”

Effie looked around thoughtfully. “It’s a lovely memorial. Better than any gloomy cemetery. So many people though, Haymitch. It was worth it, wasn’t it? Sometimes I’m not sure.”

“I know. I have the same thoughts sometimes. But then I come into town and nobody’s starving and people are laughing. The kids are free and safe, even though it cost them. The next generation – they won’t ever have to know about the pain, not first-hand anyway. Reckon that makes all that spilled blood worth it in the end. That’s what I tell myself anyway. The alternative…”

“Doesn’t bear thinking about,” Effie finished for him. “You’re right. It has to be positive. We have to move forwards with what we fought for. It’s just... some days… I’m not sure I could take it if it were for nothing.”

 

Haymitch took her into his arms and felt himself melt into hers at the same time. It was such a relief to admit his fears to someone, to see his same concern reflected back at him. Katniss hinted at it from time to time, but he couldn’t entertain any discussion of it with her. She was so young, he absolutely had to make her believe in the positive of what they’d all done.

“It’ll be all right. We’ll see the good that comes of it with every year older we get. And with every year, we’ll believe it a bit more. It’ll get easier.”

“I hope so,” whispered Effie.

 

They stood like that in the meadow for perhaps ten minutes or more with their arms about one another, each drawing their own comfort from the warm, quiet presence of the other.

“We should walk on,” said Haymitch eventually with some reluctance. “Don’t want you getting cold.”

 

They took the path that ran alongside the forest, still fenced in to keep wild animals from the town, but never electrified anymore, and with regular gated entry points for the hunters amongst them to gain access. Darkness was falling properly now, and Effie looked up to the sky, trying to identify and point out the constellations Haymitch had shown her the previous night.

“Any more romance in the skies?” she asked, pleased to have correctly identified Altair and Vega.

“Tons,” said Haymitch. “Look right there.” He pointed. “That’s Perseus and Andromeda. He married her after he rescued her from a sea monster. She’d been sacrificed to atone for her awful mother’s boastfulness.”

“I knew an Andromeda at school once,” said Effie. “I wonder if she was named for the story. Her mother certainly was a class A bitch.”

“Effie Trinket!” exclaimed Haymitch in mock horror. “Your language! District life is rubbing off on you already.”

 

They both laughed and walked on around the curve of the meadow, turning back towards home. As they reached the point which met with the road to town, a figure emerged from the darkness, hastening in their direction. Haymitch felt Effie stiffen at his side and press closer into him.

“Haymitch?” came an elderly female voice from the shadows. “That you?”

“Evening Sae,” he returned. “Yeah, it’s me. You on your way to open up?”

“Yes. The young ‘uns have been setting up. Don’t trust ‘em to run the whole show alone though.”

A woman who appeared to be in her late sixties or early seventies stopped in front of them, though she was perhaps younger. The years had not tended to be kind to Twelve’s residents. She did a double take as she noticed Effie beside him.

“Oh. Thought you were with Katniss. Been worried about her. Saw the hovercraft land night before last.”

“No. Got a visitor. Sae, this is Effie…”

“Trinket,” finished Sae for him. “I know who she is.”

Her voice wasn’t hostile, but still Haymitch prepared to leap to her defence. Effie pre-empted him.

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble or offence. Haymitch didn’t think we’d come across anyone, otherwise I’d have kept to the village.”

“What would you want to do that for then?” said the older woman. She put out her hand to Effie, who extended her own in surprise.

“You’re very welcome here, my dear,” she continued, “so don’t you worry. All of us here now were in Thirteen during the war, so we know where you were. Reckon that more than paid for the mistakes you made. Any friend of Haymitch and the kids is welcome with us. And if anyone says different, they’ll have me to answer to. Or him,” she added, nodding towards Haymitch. “I’ll let you decide which would be worse. You staying long?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Effie. “I’ve not been well. I wasn’t making any progress in the Capitol, so…”

“Awful place,” declared Sae. You’re best off out of it, my dear. You’ll have to come in and see me at the café some time. It’s not fancy, but the food’s hot and plenty of it, thanks to Katniss. Get this young man to bring you for dinner. I’ll make sure you get a good table.”

“Young man?” said Haymitch. “You trying to flatter me into giving you my patronage?”

“Always with the cynicism,” said Sae to Effie, rolling her eyes. “You watch your step with this one, love. You see he treats you right.”

“It’s not… We’re not...” began Haymitch, but Sae cut him off abruptly.

“Right. Best be on my way. See what chaos those young ‘uns have caused. Nice to see you, love. Make sure you drop by.” She patted Haymitch on the arm and set off once again in the direction of town.

“That wasn’t the reception I was expecting,” said Effie, staring after the retreating figure. “She seems nice.”

“Whole district’s gonna know you’re here by morning,” said Haymitch.

Effie looked stricken, but Haymitch was quick to reassure her. “She’s the best person to have met. Kind of the matriarch of Twelve. If she says you’re welcome, any doubters will soon fall into line. C’mon, let’s get back. Reckon I could do justice to that casserole now.”

 

They walked on in companionable silence for a while. The evening was a little chilly for the time of year, but it was also clear and bright, everything rendered that bit more attractive by the moonlight.

“You never finished telling me what happened with Dr Crimsen,” ventured Haymitch at last.

“It wasn’t so bad,” said Effie. “We started with the recent stuff. From after my father died.” She sighed. “It’s going to get worse though. He wants to go right back. To the Quell. The war. I’m not sure I can do it, Haymitch.”

“You’ll be ok,” said Haymitch, with a conviction he wasn’t sure he felt. “One step at a time.”

Effie was quiet for a minute. “It’s not just him though. He wants me to talk things through with you as well. I can’t do that.”

“Eff. I’m in no way belittling what you went through, but you seem to forget – I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime. I can take it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she replied. “Well, in part it is. Some of it is so degrading, so… humiliating, and I admit I hate the thought of you knowing I was like that, looking at me differently, but it’s not the main thing.”

“Then what?” he came back.

“Your guilt,” she responded. “You blame yourself, no matter how many times I tell you it wasn’t your fault. How much worse is it going to be if I give you details? What happened earlier, the drinking, that was about guilt, wasn’t it? I’m not going to burden you any further, Haymitch. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“Look what happened the last time you decided not to burden me!” he retorted. “I want this, Effie. I want to help you.”

“We seem to be at an impasse,” she said. “Oh, I don’t know, Haymitch. We’ve both made mistakes. You left me behind and it didn’t go as you’d planned. I wanted to spare you my troubles and I ended up in hospital. I think what’s important is that we both acted with the best of intentions. Neither one of us was selfish in those decisions. If this is going to work, we have to agree, here and now, not to reproach ourselves anymore, you especially. What do you say?”

“I say it ain’t gonna be easy. But I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

She smiled weakly. “Then it looks like we have a deal.”

Bargain struck, they continued, unspeaking, until they reached the path that would lead them up in the direction of Victors’ Village.

“Can I ask you something?” blurted Haymitch suddenly. “You don’t have to answer now if you don’t want to.”

“Try me,” said Effie.

“At the hospital, the clinic… Why didn’t you speak?”

Effie mulled it over for a while. “It wasn’t really a conscious decision. I don’t remember collapsing. I’ve no idea what I was doing that day, where I was going. Since my father… I don’t think I’d been eating. I must have fainted. When I woke up at the hospital…it was very confusing. I wasn’t sure where I was or _when_ it was. All I knew was that strangers were all around me. It was busy, lots of shouting, rushing about. People crying out in pain. And the strangers were firing questions at me. Where had I been going? Did I know what had happened? I got muddled, I think. It was so much like being back… _there._ They asked me all those questions then. And whatever I said then, it was never the right answer. So I decided, in the prison I mean, that the best answer I could give was no answer at all. I think I just reverted back to that. I felt like there was a huge weight on my chest the whole time, crushing the words down, keeping them inside me. When I woke up here yesterday, it wasn’t there anymore. I felt so light.”

“You said my name though,” Haymitch reminded her. “Plutarch told me. You were still saying it when I reached the clinic.”

“Yes,” confirmed Effie. “I remember. When I was… In the war, it was like my mantra. Whenever I felt that I would have to give up, that I really couldn’t take another second, I would think of you. I would imagine you looking for me, coming for me. I was so sure you would, even in the midst of all that despair. It kept me going. Another minute, another hour, another day. And I was right, wasn’t I? You did come. Twice.”

“Should have been sooner,” said Haymitch through clenched teeth. “Both times.”

Effie stopped and fixed him with a steely gaze. “I thought we just made a deal.”

“Sorry,” said Haymitch. “It’s not easy. But, for what it’s worth – I’m so proud of you Effie. You have a true survivor’s instincts.”

“Well, I’m no Katniss,” chuckled Effie. “But thank you. For everything. I’ve only been here two days but I’m starting to feel as though, just maybe, I can do it. I can really come out the other side.”

 

They had almost reached the front porch of the house and Haymitch squeezed her gloved hand in his as he fumbled to open the door.

“You can,” he confirmed. “And we’re gonna make a start by building up your strength. What do you say to supper and an early night?”


	5. Chapter 5

Over the course of the next few weeks, Haymitch found his days settling into a new routine. Not since his childhood had his time in Twelve followed such a regular pattern and, unfamiliar though it was, he did nothing to fight against it. Effie had always run her life to a timetable, finding a strange comfort and confidence in those schedules and there was no way he was going to deny her that now.

Breakfast was early – courtesy of Peeta or of the geese – and followed by daily shed cleaning (Haymitch) and egg collecting (Effie). Effie would then disappear to the study to call Dr Crimsen while Haymitch variously helped Peeta, collected firewood and went to trade in town. She generally needed some space after her session, some thinking time to go over what had been discussed, and Haymitch had learnt to stay away for a couple of hours, usually stopping in town to help with the clearing or building work, while Effie rested and took a long soak in the bath – something that had once again become soothing rather than a source of fear. He’d be back by lunchtime, the pair of them usually joining the kids at Katniss’s to all eat together.

The afternoons had been the roughest part of the day for him at first, since it was the time they’d set aside for the second part of Effie’s therapy – the part where she discussed her wartime experiences with him. It had felt forced and awkward, Effie too embarrassed or distressed to recount much of what the doctor wanted her to; Haymitch flipping between determination and reluctance to hear it. After a few days of false starts, they’d pretty much decided to give up on that part of the plan and had instead begun to use the afternoons to work on preserving Peeta’s vegetables for winter. Effie had taken to it with some of the same simple delight that she devoted to egg hunting, finding an innocent pleasure in the repetitive tasks of peeling, chopping and pickling, even in washing out and drying the many glass preserving jars.

With their eyes and hands distracted by this work, they’d found a way to be able to talk about the war anyway, the pressure of the task somehow relieved by the repetitive actions they were performing. That wasn’t to say it was easy. Effie’s voice often faltered in her recounts and she couldn’t go on; extra salt was often added to the jars by way of her tears. More than once, an item of produce had found itself crushed in Haymitch’s fist as he struggled to listen to some of Effie’s experiences without resorting to alcohol or violence or simply fleeing the room. They often ended up in each other’s arms after these harrowing sessions, tears and whispers of ‘I’m sorry’ repeated over and over, despite the deal they’d made.

There was kissing too, sometimes a lot of kissing. Effie instigated it far more often than he did and his mind still felt uneasy about it, but it occurred so spontaneously, so naturally, and seemed so inextricably bound up in comfort and recovery that he was powerless to stop it. He was careful never to take it further, not to let his hands wander, to hold hers in his own when they threatened to do the same, but this was one thing that was becoming more difficult with time rather than easier.

Effie was still sleeping in his bed at night and showing no signs of stopping. She’d kept most of her belongings in the room the children had set up for her, but the girly bedcovers and Peeta’s sketch had been wordlessly transferred to his room. She slept in his arms every night and, though she still awoke from time to time either screaming or frozen with fear, it was getting easier and quicker all the time to break her out of her terrors and calm her. As for himself, he hadn’t slept so well since he was a small child. Her continual warm presence next to him was soothing, peaceful and beautiful and his body responded to her happily and eagerly. Too many mornings now, he had to slip out of bed before she woke to stand under a cool shower. If she’d noticed, she’d been good enough not to mention it.

 

Late in the afternoon, if the day was dry, they’d gather up their outdoor clothes and leave the house for a walk. It blew the slate clean of whatever painful thing they’d discussed that day and Haymitch found he enjoyed introducing her to the district. She liked the woods, as long as they didn’t venture too far in, and she always loved to visit the meadow. These days she didn’t even mind venturing into town a little. Sure enough, Sae had quickly spread the news of Effie’s stay in Twelve and seemingly had also nipped any hostility in the bud. Whilst most people left her be, all were polite and many were openly friendly and welcoming. They’d taken Sae up on her invitation to a meal at the café and Effie had thanked her by organising and optimising her staff schedules and cleaning rotas. She was at least on smiling and waving terms with several residents and it did something strange to Haymitch’s heart every time, to see his own people accepting her like that.

 

The sky was dark by the time they made their way home, the timing deliberate since Effie loved nothing better than to look at the stars and listen to whatever Haymitch could tell her about them. She had proved a good student and could correctly identify a lot of the constellations he’d pointed out. She adored the legends that went with them and, like a child, would often ask him to tell her favourites over and over again. Sometimes, when they arrived home, they’d sit on the back porch instead of going inside and continue gazing up and talking. Then there’d be supper and an evening spent in front of the fire. Sometimes Effie would watch tv but more often Haymitch would read to her from one of the many novels or histories that lined the shelves around the lounge’s walls. They were mostly ancient tomes, in some cases books that had survived the destruction of the old world before the emergence of Panem, but it didn’t seem to matter; Effie loved them all, the older the better. ‘Like fairy tales for grown-ups,’ she said.

It was fast turning into the happiest time of Haymitch’s life and he was proud and joyous to see Effie blossoming as time went by. Yes, there were bad days and rough nights, times when she retreated to her mute world, clingy and tearful, but the change was enormous. He tried his best to ignore the dread that crept in when his mind wandered to the consequences of her recovery. Every breakthrough, every triumph, was tinged with the sting of knowing it was a step closer to her leaving Twelve, to returning to her life. He pushed it aside and tried not to think about it but, with the shortening of the days, he knew the time was coming nearer and he had no idea how he would deal with the loss of her.

Such had been his musings that morning as he stepped down from the ladder and surveyed the multitude of wooden crates at his feet. Apples – as far as the eye could see. Now that they’d finished preserving the last of the vegetables, Peeta had declared it was time to harvest the apples before the first frost. It would be the first time he’d really bothered. The saplings had arrived in Twelve when he’d been a new victor – an official gift from District Eleven after his tour. Still deep in grief, he’d dug them into the ground at the far end of the garden for his mother’s sake. Apples had been a rare treat in the Seam and she’d have hated the waste if he’d left them to die. But, by the time the trees had grown mature enough to bear decent fruit, he’d barely ever set foot out the back of the house. He had just the vaguest memory of taking a bag to The Hob on occasion for Ripper to turn to moonshine. Now, there was a thought… He dismissed it as quickly as it had come to him. Effie would never go for it; it would worry her and that was the last thing he wanted.

 

“Haymitch?”

As though he’d conjured her up just by thinking about her, Effie’s voice floated through the open back door, an unmistakeable hesitant edge to her falsely confident tone. She was doing so well now, growing more stable and more relaxed every day, but he doubted that her fear of being left alone, abandoned, would ever truly leave her.

“Out here!” he called, bending over the crates to distribute the fruit more evenly.

“Oh, my goodness!” said Effie, appearing by his side fresh from her bath, her shining hair twisted up into a stylish pleat, roses in her cheeks. The clean air of Twelve had been doing her a power of good.

“I never expected there to be so many!” she exclaimed. “Whatever is Peeta planning to do with them all?”

“He says he’s gonna use them in a lot of the stuff he bakes to sell over the next few weeks. And make a big batch of pie filling he can freeze, I think. Still gonna be more than he can handle though, I reckon, and more than we and the geese can eat.”

Effie put her hands on her hips. “What can we do? We can’t waste them.”

Haymitch smirked at her genuinely troubled frown. “Well, hark at you! Turning into a proper district girl, aren’t you?”

“It would be a shame, that’s all,” she responded defensively. “Could we make jam with them? Peeta could sell it. Or give it away.”

“Apple jam? Dunno. Not something I’ve ever come across, but that’s not saying much. Jam never featured a lot in Twelve; sugar was too expensive. Can’t see why not though. Peeta’s bound to have a recipe. I’ll take some of these over and ask him. I know he’s just had a big sugar delivery – we’ll need to blag some of that, and a load of other things probably.”

“Jars,” said Effie. “Do you think he still has enough? I know he had that huge shipment, but we’ve already used so many for everything else we’ve made.”

“I’ve got jars,” said Haymitch, a shameful memory coming back to him. It was thinking about Ripper that had brought it to mind. She’d often supplied his liquor in jars over the years, when bottles had been hard to come by, and he knew the cellar was still full of empties. “Down in the cellar. Need a good wash though. How about you get started on that and I’ll go see Peeta?”

 

Forty-five minutes later, his kitchen was well on its way to looking like a factory again. He’d made several trips to Peeta’s with some of the apple boxes and eventually returned with a large quantity of sugar, some spices and various other ingredients, an enormous metal pan and a recipe for spiced apple jam. Effie had industriously washed and dried the many jars she’d liberated from the cellar and lined them up on the table, ready for filling. Now she was busy laying out knives and boards on the counter for them to start the long task of peeling, coring and chopping.

“Ok,” said Haymitch, placing the pan ready on the stove and smoothing out the recipe beside it. “Let’s get started.”

 

It was a tough task, but Haymitch had to admit he’d enjoyed it as their efforts drew to a close several hours later. The repetitive rhythm of the work had really been quite soothing and they’d managed to tune his ancient and temperamental radio to a music station that had seemed to delight Effie. It had made him smile to watch her unconsciously jigging along to the tunes or matching the tempo with the strokes of her knife. She’d even sung along to a few favourites – and she _really_ couldn’t sing. It had made him glad inside to see her so uninhibited, to measure the change from just a few weeks ago.

The kitchen was now rich with the aromas of sweet apple, cinnamon and nutmeg, and the table almost groaned with the weight of the now-filled jars cooling on its surface.

Haymitch looked over at Effie as she spooned out the last of the jam from the pan. Her sleeves were rolled up, but he wasn’t sure why she’d bothered. She was thoroughly dishevelled and smothered with jam everywhere: up both arms, her forehead, her hair, her clothes.

“You starting a new trend, Sweetheart?” he mocked. “Edible fashion? You do know the jam was meant to go into the jars, don’t you?”

Effie glanced down at her splattered clothes, then back at him. “You can talk. You have it on your face.”

Haymitch swiped his sleeve across his face and inspected it but it had come away clean.

“Did I get it?”

“No,” said Effie, shaking her head.

He tried again with the same result. “Whereabouts?” he asked. “I can’t feel anything.”

“Right there,” said Effie, unhelpfully waving the sticky spoon she was holding in a vague circular motion in the direction of his face.

He swiped once more. Nothing. “Where _exactly_?”

“Well…” Effie paused and flicked the tip of the spoon purposefully in his direction. “Right _there_.”

 

The gelatinous substance that had been sitting in the bowl of the spoon flew through the air and hit Haymitch high on the left cheek, immediately beginning its sticky journey slowly downwards. There was silence for a moment and then Effie gave a delighted gasp, her mouth stretched wide into an O which quickly gave way to a coy grin.

“Can you feel it now?” she asked innocently.

“Ohh, Miss Trinket,” responded Haymitch slowly in a grave tone. “You have made a dangerous error. You have engaged a victor and now you will have to accept the consequences.” He took a purposeful step towards her.

“Haymitch…” warned Effie, still grinning as she threw down her spoon with a clatter, trying to second-guess his next move.

Scooping out a handful of jam from the nearest jar, he made a dive for her. She dodged around the table, dipping her own hand into the jar closest to her and letting the contents fly.

“Got you!” she cried in delight as the ammo struck Haymitch squarely in the chest.

He glared at her in mock anger. “Now you’ve gone and done it. You’re gonna pay for that.” He pounced again and she shrieked, making a desperate dash for the open back door. He’d anticipated her plan and beat her to it, kicking the door shut with an impressive high flick of his leg and leaving her backed into the corner. He closed the gap between them menacingly, bringing his hand just millimetres from her face.

“No! Haymitch, no!” she half-shrieked, half-laughed, twisting this way and that as he gripped her tightly around the waist with his free arm.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he smirked triumphantly as she wriggled to no avail.

“Please!” she giggled. “I’ll do anything you want, Haymitch! I’ll beg you!”

“Oh, will you indeed? Go on then. Try me.”

Effie opened her mouth but before she could utter a single word, Haymitch had brought his hand down on her forehead, wiping the sticky mess in a long line right down her face and throat to her chest where her shirt gaped open.

“Too slow!” he declared.

“You never gave me a chance!” she spluttered.

“You started it,” he shrugged. “Didn’t see you showing me any mercy.” He reached behind him to dip into the jar again and she used the opportunity to attempt an escape, but he was on to her game, slowly backing her along the wall to the worktop. Her shirt was wet with the sticky preserve and he could clearly feel the contours of her body and the warmth of her skin through the fabric as she giggled and squirmed in his grasp.

He had her trapped now, pinned up against the counter with his hips, one hand splayed across her back to prevent her escape, the other – full of jam – poised aloft for attack. Her expression was filled with mirth, eyes lit up and vividly alive. Beautiful. Hot. Haymitch felt himself grow suddenly hard, the weight of his erection pressing into her thigh. There was no way she wasn’t feeling it. His palm on her back registered the intensity of her heartbeat as its rate increased. He dropped his attacking hand, its contents sliding to the floor. This couldn’t be good for her, supplied the still-rational part of his brain.  She was in recovery, learning to trust and relax again, the last thing she needed was an advance from the very person who was meant to help her. Though his body screamed at him not to, he reluctantly prepared to step back.

“Effie,” he began, looking into her eyes.

Effie looked back at him, pupils dilated so far he could barely see the blue of her irises. She reached up and touched his face.

“You still have jam,” she said quietly. “Here.” She swiped her thumb over his cheek, drawing it slowly, delicately, across his lower lip.

Haymitch knew he shouldn’t, but when she leaned in a split second later, replacing her thumb with her own soft lips, he was powerless to resist. His lips parted instantly, giving her access to his mouth, and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. The room seemed to tilt as he was hit with the pleasure of her familiar taste, mixed with the sweetness of the jam.

He kissed her back, slowly at first, but fast becoming more heated. Her hands dropped to his ass, cupping and squeezing the flesh there, and he moved his own to her waist, hoisting her up onto the counter and trailing a sticky line of kisses along her jaw and down her throat. Several buttons of her shirt had come undone in the earlier tussle and he brought his mouth down to her chest, licking the jam he’d spread earlier from the cleft of her breasts. Her hands were tangled in his hair now, pressing him into her, her breath catching in her throat. She moved down, one hand caressing his erection through his clothing, the other reaching for his fly, and it was then that Haymitch came to his senses. He grasped both her wrists and pulled himself upright.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, clearly puzzled by this change of pace.

“We have to stop,” he stated, as much for his own benefit as for hers. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Yes, it would,” she purred, freeing her hands and trying to draw him back to her. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you’re healing, Effie. I’m meant to be taking care of you, not taking advantage! I’m pretty sure Dr Crimsen’s treatment sheet didn’t include a section on fucking your brains out.”

“But surely if I want it?” she pouted, though Haymitch thought she was beginning to sound a little less certain.

“I don’t think you _can_ be sure what you want just yet,” said Haymitch, running his decidedly tacky hand through his hair. “What happens if you end up getting into something you’re not ready for? You’ve been doing so well. You don’t want to risk doing something you might regret and setting yourself back.”

Effie sighed. “I suppose you’re right. When did you become so noble, Haymitch Abernathy?”

“I’ve always been noble,” he smirked. “My mother raised me right.”

“She certainly did,” mused Effie, hopping down from the counter. “More’s the pity, perhaps.”

“Look, why don’t you go and get showered?” offered Haymitch. “I’ll clear up down here.”

“Ok,” said Effie, moving across the kitchen. She paused briefly as she reached the door, throwing a somewhat wistful look in his direction before she continued out to the hall and up the stairs.

“You must be losing your mind,” said Haymitch aloud to himself in the empty kitchen. “You get yourself into a situation like that with a hot woman and then tell her it’s not a good idea?”

He knew he’d done the right thing though; her recovery was much more important than his pleasure. He tried to ignore the other thing, the more selfish reason that he’d stopped her. The way he’d felt about her by the time of the Quell, those emotions he’d tried to deny himself; they were still there. And magnified. He was falling for her all over again and if they slept together now… Well, it would kill him when she left Twelve. And she _would_ leave once she was completely well, he was sure of it. Effie Trinket was no small-town girl.

He put his energy into tackling the mess they’d created, and the kitchen was soon presentable again, though there was no sign of Effie returning. He mounted the stairs, peeling off his sticky shirt as he went, expecting to find her at the dressing table doing her hair or make-up. The spare room was empty though and the bathroom door closed, the shower still running. Haymitch felt a mild panic rising. What if she’d fallen or fainted? He made for the door and was about to call her name when he heard it. Those unmistakeable gasps of pleasure that he’d heard countless times before, and he knew with certainty that Effie was touching herself in the shower.

All progress he’d made in bringing down his own level of arousal was shattered and he groaned to himself. The mere thought of her doing _that_ on the other side of the door, undoubtedly while thinking about the way they’d touched and kissed in the kitchen… He fled to his room, grabbing clean clothes from his closet and heading with them to the ensuite to take care of his own frustration. If it was good enough for her…

 

xXxXxXx

 

Haymitch’s blood pressure might have come down by dinner time, but there was a definite tension in the air and he was glad they’d invited the kids over. The extra chatter allowed him to divert some of his attention away from Effie, though he almost choked on his roast potato when Peeta innocently asked how the jam-making had turned out. He kept catching Effie’s eye across the table, but he was struggling to read her expression. It was at once knowing and quizzical and he couldn’t work out whether she knew he’d heard her in the bathroom or merely suspected what he himself had done next. Or neither of those things. Perhaps he was reading things that weren’t there into the situation but, for the first time in a long while, he felt uneasy and unsure in her presence, and he was relieved when the kids stayed late, not leaving until past the time when he and Effie would normally have moved upstairs.

He took the coward’s way out, disappearing to the bedroom as she saw the kids out and feigning sleep when she came to bed. He fought the instinct to hold his breath as he felt the bed dip under her small weight and the ends of her hair brush his face as she leant over him. He prayed she wouldn’t feel his heart thudding in his chest as she pressed her warm lips to his mouth in a gentle goodnight kiss. She settled next to him in her usual position with her head pillowed halfway between his chest and his shoulder and he couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. His arms slid around her small frame in the same way as every night and he gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Night, Eff,” he mumbled into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Haymitch,” she whispered back, and he felt her relax into him as she always did. His own body began to grow heavy beside her. It would be ok. This was new territory, but they’d been through a lot worse than a bit of awkwardness. It didn’t undo any of the progress they’d made in her recovery, but it _was_ odd. Sex and sexuality was the one area that had always been upfront between them. Effie, like many Capitols, had seemed to regard it as something of a hobby when they’d first met. She’d never had the district citizen’s wariness or embarrassment over desire and masturbation and the like and, with her, he’d swiftly learnt to follow her lead. This… avoidance was weird and he wondered for the hundredth time that evening what she was thinking. He fervently hoped that what had almost happened that day would not disturb the easy trust that had built up between them during her time in Twelve. It meant far more to him than he cared to admit.


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. They both slept well that night and the next day unfolded in the same comfortable pattern they’d grown used to, as did those that followed it.

Effie continued to make progress with Dr Crimsen and their own “sessions” were gradually becoming more cathartic than harrowing. Haymitch had even found himself discussing some of his own wartime experiences: the night of the breakout from the arena, losing contact with Katniss during the hospital bombing in Eight, the horror of Peeta’s attack on her, the disappearance of Star Squad into the booby-trapped Capitol. He’d never imagined he would ever speak of these things, but Effie somehow seemed to draw them out of him without him feeling forced. She was a good listener and seemed to know instinctively when to stay silent and when to interject, when to hold him and when to stay away. She’d suggested once that he might like to talk to Dr Crimsen, but he’d shut that down right away and she’d never mentioned it again. He couldn’t imagine ever bringing out those topics in front of anyone but her.

 

There had been no more awkwardness between them since the evening of the jam-making day, but there had been a subtle shift. Something that wasn’t quite tension still lingered, a little frisson of electricity seemed to charge the atmosphere at certain times. Those chaste, gentle kisses they often shared had increased in both length and frequency and there had been one occasion where it had gone further.

They’d bumped together in the kids’ kitchen one evening whilst clearing the dishes, and the arms reached out to steady one another were suddenly locked around each other in a passionate embrace and they were kissing deeply, feverishly, and with complete abandon. Haymitch wasn’t sure how it would have ended if Peeta’s voice ringing out from the dining room to ask them to bring in the coffee hadn’t broken them out of it. As she’d left the kitchen, Effie had given him a rueful smile that had snapped something inside of him and he’d been struggling with the feelings simmering within him ever since.

 

Laying next to her in bed at night was often a sweet torture. Sometimes he was so sure that if he were to reach out for her, to touch her in a certain way, she would respond readily. He imagined sinking into her, her warmth encircling him; he pictured rocking his hips with hers, looking into her eyes as they reached a climax. Too many mornings, he woke in the early hours to discover he’d come in his pyjama pants like a teenager, forced to sneak from the bed to clean up without rousing her.

He’d done nothing about these fantasies and nor would he. Maybe he was reading it wrong anyway. Despite being so sure that he could feel her desire, Effie had never again tried to start anything more than the innocent kisses and embraces, and she had never, in the old days, hesitated in taking what she wanted from him. And sure, it was frustrating this way, but he was glad not to rock the boat. Effie’s mental state was so much improved and he knew they must be approaching the time when she would be well enough to return to the Capitol. He hated to think of it at all, but it would be so much worse when the time came if their relationship had turned physical. It would break him to let her go. It pained him to admit it, but he knew now that, no matter how much he craved sex with her, that alone wouldn’t be enough. He wanted _all_ of her, yet he had no right to ask it. Saying goodbye would be bad enough as things stood now, but at least they could part friends, keep in touch. She would return to visit. Once they’d slept together that would be ruined. He felt ridiculously dramatic even thinking it, but it would kill him to lose her from his daily life after that. It would be torture to hear about her moving on, perhaps with someone new.

In his more desperate moments, after a couple of now rare drinks, he’d contemplated suggesting he return with her when she went, but rationally he knew he never would. Even if she wanted him, he wasn’t sure he could live out the rest of his days in the Capitol, no matter how different the world was, and he sure as hell couldn’t abandon the kids. It was a strange limbo in which he now found himself – his days among the happiest he’d ever known, yet lived out in the shadow of dread of her departure.

 

“Haymitch!” called Effie, snapping him from his thoughts. “Are you all right? You seemed miles away; I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said!”

They were on the path from the meadow, the sky already dark, the air crisp and frigid. Autumn had by now faded hopelessly into winter and their daily schedule had shifted, bringing their walk much earlier, to start while there was still some light left. Since the preserving tasks had long been completed and there was less and less for them to discuss after Dr Crimsen’s calls these days, it fit perfectly into the afternoon and they used the time to talk over anything Effie _did_ want to bring up, but increasingly for other topics, such as Peeta’s fast-accelerating bakery plans.

The fabric and facilities committee in town had agreed that a bakery was a priority business and had already allocated a parcel of land in what was becoming the new main street. Building was soon to begin and Peeta was a flurry of activity, sketching out potential internal designs and making plans for equipment. Effie had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the task as well, full of suggestions for décor and undertaking studies and questionnaires in town to understand what residents would want from their new shop.

She was confident now in her welcome in the district and, against all the odds, had become a popular figure, known for her smile and helpfulness. She even worked a few hours a week in the new Justice Building in an administrative capacity, liaising with Capitol contractors and handling the ordering and delivery of a range of building supplies to the district. She’d volunteered to help out when Thom had told them of the communication difficulties they seemed to be having with accessing goods and services from the Capitol, but she’d soon proved such a valuable asset that they’d insisted on paying her. Even though it wasn’t much and he sure as hell didn’t need it, Haymitch loved seeing the pride on Effie’s face each week as she tipped her earnings into the housekeeping jar.

“Sorry,” mumbled Haymitch, instinctively reaching for her hand, “I think I drifted off. What were you saying?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Effie, tucking her arm through his and nestling companionably into his side. “We’re nearly home now. I’ll tell you about it later.”

 

The kids were in a state of high excitement when Effie and Haymitch arrived at their house for dinner early that evening.

“Ground breaking starts tomorrow!” exclaimed Peeta before they were even properly over the threshold. “A whole team of builders arrived in town with the noon train today! I had no idea until Thom called me. With that much labour, the bakery will be up in no time! Somebody must have pulled a few strings,” he said, raising an eyebrow questioningly in Effie’s direction.

Haymitch watched as she flushed a little and gave a pleased smile. “You never said.”

“I wasn’t sure if it would come off,” she replied, “so I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. I’m so pleased Peeta.”

“Well, thank you Effie,” said Peeta, stooping to embrace her. “It means so much to me.”

Effie waved his words away, a little embarrassed, but Haymitch could tell she was delighted with the boy’s response and the fact she’d been able to help him.

They moved to the dining room where the meal was already waiting to be served, Peeta leading the animated chatter on what was to happen next in the timetable.

“Was this what you were trying to tell me earlier?” said Haymitch, as Katniss served out their portions and handed round the plates.

“Actually no,” said Effie, taking a sip of her water. “I had no idea the crew would arrive today. But I do have some news of my own.”

All heads turned to look at her and she actually seemed a little shy for a brief moment.

“Dr Crimsen thinks the initial phase of my therapy has come to an end. He’s very happy with my progress and he thinks I’m ready to be discharged from round-the-clock care! He wants me to come to the Capitol to meet in person and assess me. He needs to review my medication schedule and work out a new treatment plan.”

Haymitch’s heart was pounding in his ears and he could do nothing but stare at her dumbly. He’d known this day was coming, had been dreading it for long enough, yet he found now that it hadn’t prepared him at all.

It was Katniss who responded first. “That’s wonderful, Effie,” she stated simply, reaching to squeeze her former escort’s hand. “I’m so pleased for you.”

“Thank you, dear,” responded Effie. “I must admit I’m a little nervous about returning to the Capitol.”

“I could come with you!” interjected Peeta. “I desperately need to look at commercial ovens. The team they’ve sent will install everything before they leave, but I can’t get any proper idea from the catalogues I’ve got. I really need to see them, to try them out before I can make a decision. It would be perfect! Maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me out with some contacts and finding my way about?” Peeta paused, ever thoughtful. “Unless of course you’d rather go with Haymitch. Perhaps the two of you could look at ovens for me if I give you some pointers? I don’t want to leave Katniss here on her own.”

“I’ll be fine…” began Katniss, but Effie broke in at once.

“No, I think it’s a great idea. I’d be honoured to help you, Peeta. And besides, Haymitch loathes the Capitol. And doctors. Let’s you and I spare him that. We’ll strike while the iron’s hot; get tomorrow’s train.”

 

She beamed at Haymitch, who tried and failed to return her smile. The dread was seeping slowly throughout his body. So this was it. Tomorrow she would leave. He hadn’t thought it would happen this suddenly. This morning everything had been normal. Tomorrow she would be gone. And who could tell what would happen next? She was so happy, so buoyed up by the doctor’s opinion of her progress. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d undergone a remarkable transformation. She’d be well equipped to deal with Capitol life now. She wouldn’t come back. He just knew it.

 

The rest of the evening was taken up with travel plans, drawing up lists of potential commercial kitchens and showrooms to visit, a hasty phone call to Dr Crimsen. Haymitch felt his silence and lack of input had gone unnoticed until Effie unlocked their front door a couple of hours later.

“You are pleased for me, Haymitch?” she asked as they hung up their coats. “About what Dr Crimsen said? You haven’t said a word since I told you. And so much of it’s down to you. I hope you’re pleased. And proud. Of both of us.”

“I’m pleased,” confirmed Haymitch. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as for you to get well. It’s just…” He paused. Could he do this? Could he really tell her his true thoughts, his true feelings? “I don’t want you to go.”

“I will be fine,” said Effie. “It’s just a few days. It won’t send me back to how I was. I feel so much stronger.” She smiled at him. “Why don’t you go on up? I’ll bring us some cocoa. Might even put a little something in it for you.”

 

Haymitch watched her figure retreat down the hall to the kitchen, no longer skinny, but perfectly slender, rounded in all the right places. He hadn’t been able to make her understand. He hadn’t meant he didn’t want her to make this trip to Dr Crimsen. He’d been trying to tell her he didn’t want to lose her. From his life. From his heart. Ever. Tomorrow she’d be gone. Maybe he’d get a temporary reprieve and she’d come back for a while, leaving him gradually. Or maybe it would be a clean break and she’d decide to keep moving forward once she reached her home. Whichever it would be, he knew that tonight had marked the start of a new era, the gate beginning to close on the most contented, peaceful time of his life.

 

He clung to her in bed that night and, though she said nothing, he was sure she could feel his desperation since she held him just as tightly, pressed regular kisses to his shoulder where her head lay until she fell asleep. Haymitch didn’t sleep. How could he, knowing that this could be the last night he would ever hold her? He watched her all night, memorising the curve of her cheek, the length of her eyelashes, running his hand up and down the length of her spine, feeling the hard ridges of the scars whose patterns he knew like his own.

 

Morning came too soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Haymitch stayed out of the way the next morning as Effie packed her bag, cleaning out the goose shed with unnecessary violence. If she was puzzled by his silence as the four of them walked to the station, she didn’t say.

The train was already at the platform and Katniss and Peeta moved a little away from them to say their goodbyes to one another. Effie took his hands in hers and turned him to face her. They’d experienced so many goodbyes on a station platform over the years that he should have been used to it, but this felt all wrong. This time there was no guarantee he would see her again.

“I will miss you, Haymitch,” said Effie, looking into his face. He wanted to answer her, but he couldn’t, just standing dumbly before her as she brought her hand up to his face, drawing him down for a kiss. Those soft lips on his – how could he bear the thought of never feeling them again? Effie’s tongue ran along his own bottom lip, asking for an access that he gave without thinking, joining them, reaching out. As goodbye kisses went, it was a perfect one and Haymitch couldn’t work out if it made him feel better or worse. Had it been her final farewell to him?

 

The sharp shrill of the train’s departure warning whistle broke them apart and a second later Peeta was there, lifting Effie’s bag from the floor and climbing aboard with it, waiting in the doorway to help her up. Effie’s goodbye was still only half out as the train pulled away and he realised as the last glimpse of her disappeared around the bend that he had never said a thing to her the whole time. He struggled to remember what the last words he’d spoken to her had been. ‘Tea or coffee?’ most likely. Something trivial and meaningless. He’d let her go without a word. Again. A third time.

 

He walked back to the village with Katniss silent at his side. He knew she must have been experiencing her own turmoil at parting from Peeta, but he couldn’t find it in him to sympathise. He could understand her worry at how he might react to being back in the Capitol, the concern that her own demons might return in his absence, but he couldn’t help but hate her a little for the certainty that Peeta would come back and for good. She was all right though, his girl, he thought grudgingly. She’d see he was ok in her own sullen way, would make sure he didn’t drink himself to death or neglect to eat. More was the pity, perhaps. She was the reason he had to keep going, had to keep his grip on life, and right now it was hard not to resent her for it.

 

The next two days passed in a blur. He’d drunk himself into a stupor that first day, slept downstairs unable to face his empty bed and experienced nightmares he’d not encountered in months. He’d awoken to a ringing telephone, Effie’s voice at the other end of a noisy and jumpy phone line. They’d arrived safely, she’d confirmed, but into terrible storms that were playing havoc with communications. She and Peeta were staying at her apartment and she would be seeing Dr Crimsen first thing the next day. She was halfway through an explanation of the kitchen appliance warehouse they’d be seeing that afternoon when the line went dead. Without him having the chance to really say anything. To tell her he missed her. To take care. To come back to him.

 

Katniss brought food that night and news that the storm was abating and that Peeta had found some promising equipment. They ate in silence, both despondent and tetchy. He stayed where he was when she stood to leave, twirling the liquor in his glass, somehow even lacking the will to drink it. She paused in the doorway.

“They’ll come back,” she blurted. “It’ll just be a little while. Then everything will feel good again.”

Haymitch snorted from his armchair, staring at the floor. “Peeta will.”

“And Effie,” declared the girl.

“Why would she?” said Haymitch, looking up at her with an icy glare. “She’s home now. She’s better.”

“Because she loves you,” stated Katniss.

 

Haymitch gave a bitter laugh and tossed back the contents of his glass. “Get out of here,” he ordered gruffly, and she did, closing the back door softly behind her.

 

The glass hit the wall and shattered as soon as she was out of earshot. Bloody kids! Peeta must be rubbing off on her. He’d never had her down for a romantic before. ‘Because she loves you.’ Ridiculous.

She had done once, of course, back then, in the Games. He’d never let her say it, didn’t want to believe it. It was too dangerous, too… _impossible_. By the time he’d realised he’d loved her too, it had been too late. He’d been gone and she’d been… She couldn’t love him now, not after that, not in that way. She cared for him certainly, but from gratitude and because he’d made her feel safe. She couldn’t love him. What was there to love?

He’d told himself not to hope, but still he found himself clearing up the broken glass, lest she should return and discover the mess. He stared hard at the liquor bottle in the kitchen, surprised to find he had no desire for it. He made his way slowly upstairs, wandering into her room and opening her wardrobe. His heart lifted momentarily as he realised how many of Mrs Everdeen’s cast-offs still hung there, only to come crashing back down as it dawned on him they’d be no use in the Capitol. He closed the door with a sigh and stumbled into his own room, tumbling into bed fully clothed. His sleep was fitful, regularly jerking awake believing she’d returned, only to find it was just her lingering scent on the pillow and bedsheets. Each time, it was like losing her all over again.

 

He did nothing at all the next day, save for letting the geese out and penning them in again at dusk. Katniss brought him a plate of cold cuts and some bread that was past its best, but she didn’t linger, either too lost in her own sadness or reluctant to have her head bitten off again – he wasn’t sure which. He attempted to read the book he was part way through, but he’d been reading it to Effie, a chapter each evening, and it just made him miss her all the harder. He didn’t go back upstairs after that, didn’t wash, didn’t go to town. It was like old times again.

xXxXxXx

 

He wasn’t sure how many days had passed when Katniss burst into the lounge, rousing him from his troubled sleep in her favoured old style of a jug of cold water to the head.

“You stink!” she supplied, easily side-stepping the pathetic swipes of his knife as he furiously came to.

“Get upstairs and get washed while I freshen this place up,” she ordered. “The phone lines are still patchy, but Peeta got word to me through Plutarch’s office. They’ll be on the afternoon train and Effie’s going to have your head if she sees the house like this.”

“She’s definitely coming?” he slurred, “Peeta said so?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Katniss. “Well, I’m pretty sure. I didn’t actually speak to him, did I? It was a message. But it was: ‘ _They’ll_ be on the afternoon train.’ I think. No, it was, I’m sure. So for goodness sake, take a shower.”

 

Two hours later and freshly washed, the house once again clean and tidy, Haymitch found himself clumping along to the station beside Katniss in a fine dusting of snow. When had that happened? The rational part of his brain repeated over and over that the message was wrong, that she wouldn’t be there, and yet his stomach persisted in turning juvenile somersaults of anticipation.

What was it with this team? he mused. He’d given up on life easily, with relief even, before these three people. What was it about them that wouldn’t let him give up on them? He’d started a war for them, for goodness sake! And now, here he was, on a wild goose chase for someone he’d almost certainly lost, at the behest of a grumpy adolescent who had caused him nothing but trouble since the day he’d met her. It made no sense.

 

The train was delayed and Katniss paced the station like a caged bear. Haymitch slumped on the bench at the far end of the platform, annoyed at the way her anxiety was grating on his own nerves.

The wait seemed interminable but, at last, there was the train, hissing to a stop in front of him.

“Katniss!” Peeta’s voice rang out across the concourse, the boy waving eagerly from the open window, alighting the train the moment the door opened and running straight into his girl’s open arms. Haymitch had always thought of Katniss as something of a cold fish, but there was nothing cold in the way she returned Peeta’s kiss, in the joy on her face as he swung her round.

Haymitch scanned the platform in vain. “Where is she?” he demanded of Peeta, gruffly interrupting the kids’ reunion.

Peeta turned to him, registering his presence for the first time. “Haymitch. Don’t worry, she’s fine. She’s still in the…”

…Capitol, supplied Haymitch’s brain. He turned on his heel and made for the exit in swift strides, disappointment and humiliation burning through him.

“Haymitch Abernathy! If you think you’re sneaking off when we’ve got all this to organise, you can think again! You are the most infuriating man! Look what you have me doing now! Shouting in public like a fishwife!”

 

It surely couldn’t be. Haymitch turned slowly. A familiar, beautiful figure was descending the train from the goods car on the arm of a harassed-looking guard and making her way towards him on a pair of ridiculously high heels.

His feet moved without him realising and he was with her in a split second, crushing her body to his in the tightest of embraces, running his fingers through her hair with his free hand. He didn’t trust himself to speak and he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, but Effie’s simple whispered ‘I’ve missed you’ was music to his ears and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let go.

They were interrupted by the loud cough of the railway guard. “I’ve made arrangements for Mr Mellark’s heavy equipment to be delivered to the village tomorrow morning. It will be in safe storage here overnight. I’ve loaded your other purchases into a small hand cart. You’ll need to return it tomorrow. I hope that concludes matters to your satisfaction,” he added somewhat sarcastically.

Haymitch smirked to himself, imagining only too well the hard time Effie had given that poor guard.

She turned to the hapless man with a dazzling smile, pressing into his hand some coins she’d extracted from her purse. “Thank you so much,” she gushed. “You have been wonderful. I’m sorry if I was a little over-zealous. It’s just that these items are incredibly important to us. We have so many hopes for the new bakery, you see.”

Haymitch thought he could pinpoint the precise second the poor man was won over. Effie’s charm could be devastating when she wanted it to be.

“No problem at all,” simpered the guard, well and truly under her spell now. “I hope it all works out for you, Miss. I’ll see to it personally that the ovens are on their way to Mr Mellark first thing.”

Effie laid a hand on his arm and beamed at him. “You are an utter darling,” she gushed, and the poor man’s cheeks flushed red at once. He nodded briefly and rushed away in some confusion and embarrassment.

 

Effie turned back to Haymitch. “Shall we go home?” she said brightly. “You can push the cart.”

“What did they do to you in the Capitol?” he grumbled as they moved towards the exit. “Give you a bossiness booster?”

Effie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m sure you missed me really. You can’t be grouchy today. Not on your birthday.” She regarded his blank expression. “Oh, Haymitch. Don’t tell me you forgot it was your birthday?”

“Might have done,” he mumbled. “Haven’t celebrated it since I was sixteen.”

“Well, that changes tonight,” said Effie firmly. “I’ve planned a lovely evening. I haven’t told the children though,” she added, lowering her tone so the two lovestruck teenagers following them wouldn’t hear. “They’d feel obliged to join in and I don’t want to spoil their first night back together.”

Haymitch didn’t respond, always uncomfortable at any reference to the kids’ sex life, but he was glad inside. He wanted Effie to himself anyway. She’d come back, and though he didn’t know how long for, he was going to make the most of whatever time he had.

 

The four of them chatted a little on the way home or, to be more exact, Peeta and Effie did the talking whilst Haymitch and Katniss listened. They’d found some amazing equipment for the bakery and Peeta had decided to buy it on the spot and bring it back with them rather than risk shipping problems. Bakers and pastry chefs in the Capitol had been falling over themselves to help the famous Peeta Mellark and he’d had the time of his life, invited to various demonstrations and masterclasses, returning with plenty of advice and new ideas to try out. They’d kept him more than busy while Effie had been with Dr Crimsen, so she hadn’t had to worry about him at all, she assured them.

“And how did that go?” asked Haymitch cautiously.

“Very well,” said Effie, a note of pride in her voice. “I’ll give you all the details when we get in. I’m sure the children don’t want to be bored with that. Oh, and here we are!” she exclaimed as they passed under the gates to the village. “I’m glad to see this place again! And it looks so pretty in the snow!”

Effie took her bag from Peeta and embraced him. “Thank you, my dear. For everything this week. Now, you two have a lovely evening and don’t worry about us. We’ll see you in the morning.” With that, she virtually pushed the embarrassed young couple towards their own house and tottered happily up the steps to Haymitch’s.

 

Inside the house, it was as if she’d never left. They slipped seamlessly back into their usual roles and routines – Effie putting away her purchases from the borrowed cart, Haymitch brewing the tea, and both of them sliding into their preferred chairs around the kitchen table.

“So, what did the doc say?” asked Haymitch, once they were settled over their drinks.

“He said I’ve made excellent progress,” she answered proudly. “My assessment was very positive. He’s reduced most of my medication and some of it we’ve started on phasing out completely. He says we can drop the sessions to once a week, though I can phone him any time if I need to. Oh, and that reminds me!” She scrabbled for her shoulder bag, extracting a sheaf of papers. “I don’t need to be under guardianship anymore! We’ve already signed the papers. You just have to add your name and I’ll post them back to him.”

“What’s this?” said Haymitch suspiciously, leafing through the documents she’d pushed over to him.

Effie placed a pen in front of him. “It says I’m competent to take care of myself again. You need to sign it to acknowledge you are relinquishing your guardianship. Well, I think I’ll go and unpack and take a shower. I’ve got plans for a birthday meal to sort out!”

 

With that, she swallowed the last of her tea, picked up her travelling bag and sashayed from the room, humming a little to herself. Haymitch stared down at the papers for a long time. So this was it. He felt conflicted inside. This was what he’d wanted all along, wasn’t it? For her to be better. To be that strong, capable, independent woman again. And that’s what had happened. They’d succeeded. So why did he feel such a sense of loss? Signing these papers – it spelt the end. It meant she didn’t need him anymore. There’d been no papers for him. Nothing to say he needed her. Reluctantly, he scratched his name at the bottom of both copies and set them in the middle of the table, weighted down by the salt cellar. The beginning of the end. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table and went out to round up the geese. They were in a truculent mood and, by the time he’d finally got them all safely penned in, Effie was back in the kitchen, fragrant and lovely and dressed elegantly in honour of his birthday, though in a simpler style than the outfit she’d arrived home in. He preferred her like that. It was a look she carried off well and he always felt it was a look she chose with him in mind and not hordes of others she was seeking to impress.

“There you are!” she exclaimed as he closed the back door. “I wanted to give you your birthday present.”

A little shyly, she held out a rectangular parcel beautifully wrapped in gold paper and trimmed with glossy red ribbons.

“Happy birthday, Haymitch,” she said, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his mouth. It was the first kiss they’d shared since her return and he kept his lips locked to hers for longer than was strictly proper for a birthday peck, wanting to savour the moment.

Effie seemed a little flustered when he finally released her. “Well, go ahead and open it,” she urged. “I so hope you’ll like it.”

Haymitch removed the ribbons and carefully opened the package. It was a book, a very old one, beautifully bound in brown leather and embossed with gold. He read out the title.

“The Star-Crossed Lovers: A study of the differing origins of the legend of Altair and Vega.”

“Do you like it?” she asked nervously. “I remembered you said there were different versions of the story. I thought you might like to read about the ones you don’t know.”

“It’s perfect,” said Haymitch, really meaning it. He felt a little choked as he mumbled his thanks.

Effie’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Well, why don’t you go upstairs and have a look at it while I get things ready down here for your birthday supper? And change your shirt for something smarter. This is a celebration.”

“This was clean on before I came to the station!” protested Haymitch, but without much fire.

Effie shot him a look. “Just humour me, Haymitch. I’ve brought lots of treats from the Capitol. And some from closer to home too. I just want it to be perfect.”

“Ok,” consented Haymitch. “And thank you for the book. I really do love it.” He stroked a hand across her back and dropped a kiss to the top of her head as he left the room.

 

A full hour later, Effie called him downstairs. The place was unrecognisable. All the lights were off and the lounge was filled with a multitude of tiny candles spread over every surface. The sofa and armchairs had been pushed back, and in front of the roaring fire she’d set burning was a cosy-looking nest of quilts, blankets, cushions and pillows. The coffee table had been dragged next to it and was groaning with a kind of luxurious carpet picnic composed of some of his favourite Capitol delicacies, both savoury and sweet.

“Wow,” he stated simply, genuinely impressed with her effort. He’d never realised how much attention she must have been paying through all those years when he was in the Capitol – almost everything on that beautifully laid table was something he’d always made a beeline for at any party or consistently chosen from the selection at the penthouse.

“The breads are Peeta’s,” she said, gesturing to the basket at one end of the table. Made right before we left, under the tutelage of one of the Capitol’s leading bakers. I hope they’re still fresh enough that you can taste how wonderful they are.”

“Don’t think I ever had a birthday spread like this before.”

“We must have a toast!” exclaimed Effie, taking him by the hand and leading him over to the mantelpiece where two glasses of a velvety red wine stood waiting. She handed one to him and took the other, raising it to meet his. “Here’s wishing you a very happy birthday, Haymitch,” she announced, looking into his eyes, “And may you have many more of them.”

They both took a sip of the wine. It was indeed very fine, warming Haymitch’s body from the inside on its way down. His eyes were still locked on Effie’s and he took her glass from her fingers, placing it back on the ledge with his own and leaning in to kiss her.

Effie responded at once, sliding her slender arms around him, causing him to reciprocate. He’d intended it as a heartfelt kiss of thanks and appreciation, but it didn’t feel that way now.

Before he was aware of it happening, her tongue was in his mouth and his in hers; small, beautiful noises of contentment emanating from her. Her hands moved to sneak under the hem of his shirt, fingertips caressing the warm skin of his torso. Her touch was exquisite, like little bursts of electricity through his body, and he kissed her harder, pressing her tighter against him. When one hand left his chest to glide over his left buttock, he felt himself harden inside his pants and he groaned. He wanted her so badly. And not just with his body. He wanted her entirely, to wholly possess her and to have her possess him. And that couldn’t happen. Hadn’t he just signed her away in the kitchen? Soon she would be gone, soaring high, and he wasn’t sure he would survive it as it was. If they did this now, he definitely couldn’t.

Haymitch pushed her back gently and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I can’t do this.” He sighed and ran one hand through his hair.

“It’s all right,” said Effie in a small voice. “You don’t want me in that way anymore. I’ve suspected it for a while now. You’ve been trying to let me down gently. I understand.”

“No. You don’t. That’s _so_ not it. You don’t get it at all!” spat Haymitch, reclaiming his glass and taking a large gulp. “If we do this now, it’s only going to be so much worse when you leave.”

“Leave?” said Effie, with something that sounded like genuine shock. When she spoke again, it was in her old voice – her escort’s voice. “Of course, forgive me. I’ve been here so long already. I’m taking advantage, imposing. I’m so much better now. I’m so sorry, Haymitch; it’s so rude of me. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you want your space back.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re nothing but welcome here, don’t you know that by now? What the hell would I want space for? I don’t want you to leave. Ever. But I’ve no right to keep you here in this forgotten corner of the world either. You’re doing so well now, and Effie Trinket’s too bright not to fly free. You’ve always loved city life. I’m not going to try to keep you from it.”

Effie stared at him with wide eyes, a look of wonder on her face. “Oh, Haymitch.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Haven’t you realised? Effie Trinket doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t care if I never see the Capitol again. It’s a dead place to me. _This_ is what I love now. The peace, the quiet beauty of the trees and the hills. Growing our own food. Collecting eggs every morning. Watching the stars on the porch at night. The children. And most of all - you. It’s saved me. I never want to leave. It feels like home now. I’d love it to be my home always. If only you’d have me.”

Haymitch was stunned into silence for a good minute and his voice was shaky when he used it. “How can you know? You’re still healing. Maybe it’s gratitude you’re feeling? Relief? You might feel differently next week, next month, next year. If we’ve been… intimate – well, I’m not sure I could take it.”

“Shut up, Haymitch,” responded Effie. “I know, ok? I know the same way you know you want me to stay. I’m in love with you, you silly man. I always have been.” She took his wineglass and replaced it on the mantelpiece, taking his face in her hands and drawing him down towards her to kiss him. When he responded, she took the opportunity to deepen it, her hands roaming under his shirt once more.

The fire that had been lit within him earlier was not slow to reignite and his own fingers were soon tangled in her hair as the kissing became more passionate. He moved around to stand behind her, sweeping her blonde locks to the side to trail kisses beneath her ear and over the back of her neck to the start of the line of tiny buttons that ran down the back of her blouse. He began to work them free, brushing his fingertips and his lips against the skin of her spine as he revealed more and more of her.

He felt her stiffen then, and her own hands, which had been running deliciously up and down his thighs, became still and clenched. Haymitch drew back, turning her around to face him.

“You’ve changed your mind?” he asked with concern. “It’s fine if you don’t want to do this, Effie. I’m a big boy; I can take it if you’re not ready.”

Effie shook her head, her eyes cast down to the floor. “It’s not that I don’t want it. I’m so ready, Haymitch. I want you so badly. It’s just… the scars.”

Haymitch was confused. “But I’ve seen the scars. You know I have. We’ve talked about them.”

“Yes. But we haven’t… What if… What if they mean you can’t find me attractive anymore…like that? I’m scared to find out.”

“Effie. Listen to me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You should be proud of those marks. I’m proud of you for them. They mean you fought, you resisted, and you won. How could that ever be unattractive? I don’t want to make love to a blank canvas. I want to make love to a strong woman, to a survivor. To you.”

He raised her chin with one finger and looked into her eyes. They were filled with tears, but these did not spill over and he realised they had nothing to do with her scars and everything to do with the words he’d just spoken. He hadn’t thought before about how he’d phrased his meaning - the words had come readily, naturally.

As she kissed him now and the familiar, cold, instinctive dread began to creep into his gut, he refused to allow it. The world was different now, there was nothing to fear in those words anymore, he told himself firmly. He would let himself go, lose himself in her in a way he had never allowed himself before.

Without breaking the kiss, he swept her smoothly from her feet and lay her in the nest of cushions and pillows she’d arranged for them earlier, kneeling beside her to slip off her blouse and skirt. Her own hands made smooth work of his shirt, pushing it away down his arms as she sat up to ghost her mouth over his chest. Haymitch felt the sparks run right through him to his very fingertips and he removed her bra to access her breasts, stroking the milk-white orbs with his tongue, sucking each perfect nipple into his mouth in turn. Effie’s back arched and she reached for him, pushing his trousers and boxers down for him to kick away in an old practised move. She slipped off her own underwear as he kissed her, straddling his lap and rubbing herself against him. Her breath was coming in short gasps now and Haymitch reached a hand between her legs, fingers sliding in the copious wetness there. Effie groaned softly and pushed his hand aside, laying back into the pillows.

“I need you inside me. Now. I want you to be part of me. Please.”

Haymitch looked into her eyes as he entered her slowly, gently, aware it had been a long time for them both. He cried out as he slid his full length inside her – the exquisite feel of her warmth all around him, drawing him in, almost too much to handle. He didn’t break eye contact as they found a rhythm together, slow and steady, each of them determined to draw the maximum sensation from every stroke. Small whimpers and gasps escaped Effie’s lips as her hands kneaded his buttocks and he began to match them with short, rough cries of his own – a luxury he’d always tried to deny himself until now. He felt weightless, floating above her, within her. Sex with Effie had always been good, but this was another plane entirely – two minds and two bodies perfectly aligned, reaching out, striving to touch new heights.

He could feel her orgasm building with his own and he did nothing to fight against it, somehow instinctively knowing that it would not be the usual swift peak and drop. Sure enough, when it came, it came for them as waves, both of them riding high, each of their shouts indistinguishable from the other’s.

 

Tears ran from Effie’s eyes as he lay down beside her afterwards, a gentle smile on her lips. He smiled back, a smile he knew reached every part of him. He kissed her softly, tracing patterns on her torso with his fingertips. Neither of them spoke for a long time; there didn’t seem to be any words that could do justice to what they’d just experienced. Instead, they simply lay together before the fire, exchanging gentle touches and kisses.

Haymitch felt rocked to his core. Something had come crashing down inside him. More than ten years had led up to this moment and he’d resisted it so hard, but suddenly he wasn’t afraid anymore. He was certain.

Eventually, Effie let out a long breath. “Well, Effie Trinket certainly never experienced anything like _that_.”

Haymitch smirked indulgently. “About that. I was thinking - if Effie Trinket doesn’t exist anymore, who exactly am I living with?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, leaning in for another kiss. “Maybe just Effie?”

Haymitch ran a finger down her side. “How about Effie Abernathy?”

Effie propped herself up on her elbows, her cool blue eyes searching his misty grey ones in disbelief. “Oh, Haymitch! Do you seriously mean it?”

“Wouldn’t joke about something like that,” he mumbled. “Just feels right. Got a good fire going, bread in the basket. Just the two of us, yeah? We can sign the papers with the kids at the town hall tomorrow to make it official. I know you probably dreamed of a fancy wedding but…”

“It’s perfect,” she interrupted. “I can’t think of a better way to become your wife.”

 

And so Haymitch explained the details of Twelve’s traditional toasting ceremony and their marriage took place in the firelight, the once fashion-obsessed bride clad in only lace panties and Haymitch’s shirt, her groom bare-chested in just his everyday trousers. The bread was chased down with the wine and the rest of their forgotten supper and they made love again after in the tangle of blankets. It lacked the intensity they’d experienced earlier, but it was sweet and tender and a perfect end to the evening.

“I think I’m going to like being Mrs Abernathy,” remarked Effie as he carried her upstairs later. “Especially if you’re going to carry on making love to me the way you did before the toasting.”

“Was quite something, wasn’t it?” agreed Haymitch. “Not sure where that came from. Time was right, I guess.”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting it,” replied Effie. “You must have been practising tantra to last like that after so much abstinence.”

“Shall I let you in on a secret, Sweetheart?” he chuckled as he laid her on the bed. “I’ve been jerking off in the shower just about every morning since the third day you were here. Would have ruptured something if I hadn’t, I reckon. Was torture lying next to you in bed all night, every night, and not… you know.”

Effie gave a coy grin. “And I thought it was just me. Let me know next time. I wouldn’t mind watching that. Or helping…”

“I’ll hold you to it,” warned Haymitch with a wink.

 

As he switched off the light and gathered her into his arms, he smiled to himself in the darkness. Something told him Effie Trinket hadn’t totally disappeared after all.


End file.
